


Bespoke

by oxford_manners



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: I have too many OCs, M/M, MI6!Amelia, MI6!Harry, MI6!Merlin, MI6!Roxy, slowburn, tailor!Eggsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-30 11:27:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 50,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxford_manners/pseuds/oxford_manners
Summary: I'm awful at summaries so... here's the rundown:Eggsy is adopted by a distant relative of Michelle's who happens to be a tailor at Kingsman, which is really just a tailor's - just really nice bespoke suits and friendly staff. Harry Hart is an MI6 agent, one of the twelve designated as a Round Table agent with comes with certain... liberties and discretion. Underneath his impeccably dressed exterior is a deadly spy with the highest mission success rate and kill count. Roxy Morton is his protege, and she's determined to see her mentor allow himself maybe a little bit of happiness. She's not sure how much more she can stand seeing the legendary Galahad make moony eyes at the young tailor on Savile Row.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick affair, and somehow it's approaching 30k words. What. Is. Happening.

Andrew Bridgmont greeted Harry with the usual gracious smile. “Ah, Mr. Hart, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company today? It’s been a while, over a year if I’m not mistaken.”

Harry met him with equal enthusiasm, “A year and a half at least, and I’m as sorry about that as you are. I think my wardrobe is going out of style.” He added a grimace for effect, “but work has kept me travelling. My schedule has been much too unpredictable to make an appointment.”

He took Andrew’s offered hand and shook it as he would an old friend’s. He had been coming to Kingsman for twenty years, they had bloody well be friends. “I’d like to introduce you to our new junior partner at the firm, Miss Roxanne Morton. We’re very excited to bring her aboard. She beat out some stiff competition for this position. Roxy, this is Andrew Bridgmont, master of all things Kingsman and a good friend to both James and myself.”

“Morton…” Andrew hummed thoughtfully as he offered the same genial handshake to the young woman, “of the James Morton clan?”

“The very same, sir.”

“I didn’t realize the good judge had a daughter, Miss Morton.”

“His niece actually. And please, just Roxy,” she replied.

“Ah, but the resemblance is very strong. I see the same inner strength and moral fiber in you, Miss Morton.” The tailor released her hand, nodding in approval. “How might Kingsman be of help to you and Mr. Hart today?”

Harry stepped in. “We’re here to have a wardrobe fitted for Miss Morton. Court dress as well as suits for summer and fall. Some winter and spring suits as well.” He smiled at Roxy, who shook her head in fond exasperation but grinned back at him.

Roxy had tried to dissuade Harry – she had some idea of how much this adventure might set him back – but he had insisted. This was a gift, he said, to celebrate becoming the youngest Round Table agent since the inception of the program and beating out Harry’s record by a month and three days.

So here they were.

Granted, she half suspected that Harry was getting as much – if not more – enjoyment out of this as she was. Harry was notoriously well-dressed; it was a bit of an inside joke at Vauxhall Cross, especially after the new Daniel Craig bond movies had come out, and he was determined that Roxy would share in his sartorial reputation.

Aside from the advantages of having half a dozen bespoke suits in her closet, she indulged because Harry Hart was more than a colleague and mentor to Roxy. He was like the uncle that James might have been if the judge hadn’t stepped up to become more like a father to her following the assassination – covered up as a car accident – of her parents.

She could hardly remember a time when Harry wasn’t a semi-regular fixture at the Morton’s summer home in East Horsley. He had as much a hand in raising her as James, so it was natural that Harry had been reluctant when she first expressed interest in becoming an active field agent herself.

She had promptly called him on his bullshit.

After all, he had been preparing her for this her entire life, hadn’t he? From teaching her how to hunt, ski, ride, scuba dive, taking her to trips around the world when James couldn’t because of his court obligations. Harry had personally taught her French, Russian, and Chinese and set her up with tutors for Japanese, Italian, and Arabic.

It took a bit more cajoling and persuasion for James to really give his blessing on the whole matter, and who could blame him? He had been witness to the many instances when Harry returned from his so-called business trips and vacations holding himself a bit more gingerly or with a cast and stitches he hadn’t left with. It was natural that he shouldn’t want such a dangerous career for Roxy whom he considered a daughter in his heart. Still, he had relented because who was he to deny his precious girl anything in the world?

But back to the matter at hand. All this suits and stitches business. She turned up her most charismatic smile to Andrew and said, “This is my first time getting bespoke anything, so I’ll defer to your judgment Mr. Bridgmont.”

Andrew looked contemplative for a moment before a mischievous expression graced his aged features. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting for just a moment? Normally I or my assistant Hugo would see to you as you are Mr. Hart’s referral, but I believe we have a young gentleman that might be more suited to this task.”

-

Eggsy found the task of organizing the fabric racks soothing. He savored the feel of his fingertips sliding over the weaves and knit, making sure they were properly wound around the bolts, straight and firm and tight, not a wrinkle in place.

When he was younger, a boy who had just turned two digits, he used to sneak away little squares and triangles of leftover fabric. He’d rub it between his fingers, and he learned much later that it wasn’t an uncommon soothing behavior among children though they usually did so with the typical ‘security blankets’ than pieces of expensive fabric snuck from the workshop of a bespoke tailor’s.

He had outgrown that particular habit entering his teens, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a moment to admire the new navy flannel and houndstooth tweed that had come in. He looked down at J.B., a three-year-old west highland terrier who stuck to his side like Velcro. He wore the typical service dog vest that Eggsy didn’t think suited a Kingsman dog.

“I wonder if there might be some scrap left to make you a new coat? Some houndstooth for my favorite hound?”

J.B. tilted his head adorably and barked in what Eggsy took to be agreement.

“Yes, I think you’ll very dashing in it. Maybe we can convince the boss to let us make matching outfits?”

He was about to put up the bolts when Mr. Bridgmont came up to the workshop.

“Eggsy?”

“Yes, Mr. Bridgmont?”

Eggsy suppressed a smile as Andrew sighed quietly to himself. Twenty-two years, and Eggsy still rarely called him anything other than ‘Mr. Bridgmont’ and sometimes 'Andrew'. Only on very special occasions - when Eggsy was feeling particularly emotional - did ‘dad’ ever slip out. At first, it had been because Eggsy had been afraid. Dean used to make him call him ‘Mr. Baker’ or ‘sir’ and it meant knuckles and belts if he ever slipped up. After a while though, it became something of a habit that Eggsy only sometimes bothered to break.

Their acquaintances thought it was odd that he would call his adoptive father ‘Mr. Bridgmont’ or even by his given name, but neither of them were in the habit of giving a toss about what other people thought anyway.

Neither of them also really talked about it anymore. It was all emotionally tied up with the early days, and it was difficult to remember them with clarity, intentionally and otherwise. The child therapist he used to see had told him it was alright to not remember, that it was his mind’s way of coping. The memories may or may not sort themselves out in proper order, and there was no point in forcing the issue.

What Eggsy did remember was being taken to a different home after yet another of his many A&E visits. He remembered Dean smashing the cake his mum had made for his tenth birthday, which had had one solitary candle on it. He also remembered how his mum hadn’t come for him. Remembered Andrew – a much younger man back then – telling him that everything was going to turn out alright. It both had and hadn’t.

He didn’t learn until later that his mum and Daisy both died in the delivery room. Dean had been charged with double murder because he had pushed Michelle Unwin down a flight of stairs, inducing premature labor. The bastard was later killed in a prison brawl.

It wasn’t entirely clear to Eggsy exactly how Andrew and his mum were related – something about 2nd , or was it 3rd, cousins and however many degrees removed – but Andrew was the only one of his distant relatives who had stepped up to the task of taking in – and eventually adopting – Eggsy. So he became Eggsy Unwin Bridgmont and never looked back.

He was grateful for it. He was terribly fond of the old man, and he suspected that Andrew felt the same about him. He would quite literally do anything Andrew asked of him.

“I’ve got a young gentlewoman upstairs looking to get her first bespoke wardrobe, four seasons worth, and maybe some coats. Also some court wear. She’s a friend of Mr. Hart’s.”

Eggsy ignored the little thrill that trickled down his spine at the mention of Harry Hart.

“That’s got to be… at least a dozen ensembles.”

“I know it’s nary been two years since you started here officially, but you’re more than ready for this.”

“Women’s bespoke…” he contemplated, “a bit unusual, isn’t it, for Kingsman at least?”

Andrew chuckled, “It’s not unheard of. We outfitted a duchess and her daughter a few years back. And I’ve seen the work you did while you were an apprentice for Gieves & Hawkes and Anderson & Shepherd. And if my memory serves right, George from Henry Poole said you did Countess Winchester’s suits a year back?”

“That’s true, but… a whole wardrobe?”

Andrew squeezed Eggsy’s shoulder firmly. “I have every faith that Ms. Morton will be very satisfied with your work.”

And he did. But if only he could make Eggsy see it. The young man was brilliant. Dedicated and talented, he was the envy of the apprentices and young tailors up and down Savile Row. He was a bit lacking in confidence though, a remnant of his youth Andrew suspected, though he was very adept at putting up an adequate front of confidence with bright smiles and genteel manners.

No amount of praise and assurance seemed to unseat the uncertainty that Eggsy harbored deep in his heart. One day, Andrew told himself, the right person would come along that would make Eggsy see his self-worth. He made it known frequently that he was proud of the young man that Eggsy had grown to be; warm and generous despite the hardships endured as a youth, hardworking and compassionate. Andrew’s only regret was that he hadn’t intervened earlier in Eggsy’s life.

“It’s up to you, Eggsy.”

“Well… if she agrees, I’ll do it.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Come along now, we mustn’t keep our clients waiting.”

-

“Gary,” Andrew knew Eggsy didn’t like to be introduced by his nickname to clients, “I’d like to introduce you to Miss Roxanne Morton. She’s embarking on a career as a junior partner at Mr. Hart’s firm. Don’t be fooled by his youthful appearance. Gary here has been trained by the finest on Savile Row. I can assure you he has a very impressive portfolio.”

“I can show you if you’d like?” the young tailor offered. “I won’t take offense. It might also give Ms. Morton an idea of the kind of styles she might like?”

“Please, Gary. Just Roxy,” she said as she shook Gary’s warm hand. She liked him immediately; he had a warm disposition, open and strangely gentle.

“A pleasure, Ms. Morton.”

“Take no heed. I’ve been trying to get my son here to drop 'Mr. Bridgmont' for nigh on twenty years,” Andrew bemoaned with playful exasperation. “I’m sure Harry can say the same?”

“Perhaps today is the day, Gary?” Harry turned to Gary with a friendly smile.

“Just once more, Mr. Hart, but it’s very good to see you again,” he deflected, ducking his head to try to hide his blush, but it only served to bear a tantalizing view of his throat, well-framed by the crisp collars of his shirt and an Eldredge knot.

Roxy took note of the slight color creeping into Harry’s cheeks and magnanimously steered the question to the little dog sitting at Gary’s heels.

“And who might the little pup be?”

It had a service dog vest, so she reined in the urge to pet the adorable ball of fluff.

“Everyone, meet J.B., he makes sure I stay out of trouble,” Eggsy picked up the little pooch, and Harry wanted to sear the adorable image they made into his retinas. He wanted to pull Gary in by the measuring tape that hung around his neck and kiss him senseless. “Newest addition to the Bridgmont family as of a year ago. I’m not sure how we got along without him, right Jabe?”

J.B. blinked up at Eggsy with utter devotion, and Roxy might have cooed a little. Eggsy put the dog back down again, slipping him a little treat.

“Come on, Ms. Morton, this way. We can take a look at my portfolio, some fabrics, different cuts, and decide if Ms. Morton is comfortable with me managing her first wardrobe at Kingsman?”

Harry nodded, “You’re in good hands, Roxy. Go on ahead, I’d like to take a moment to catch up with Andrew.”

-

Roxy quietly browsed the large folder spread over the table. “These are gorgeous.”

“It’s very kind of you to say so,” Eggsy demurred, blushing at the genuine compliment. It was always gratifying to have his work appreciated. “Do any of them catch your eye?”

“Maybe… all of them? You’ve done a number of women’s bespoke suits. I like the coats, too. They’re very elegant and practical,” She touched the picture gingerly. It was clear that he had put in his heart and soul into his work. “Could we add some blazers and sportscoats as well? I don’t always need a full head to toe outfit.”

“Certainly. And the suits are a relatively recent development in the history of fashion, particularly the trousers, took a bloody world war to really get it going, you know what I mean?” Eggsy explained, winking at Roxy’s smirk. “I enjoy it. It’s a slightly different process, different curves and lines to respect on a woman’s body.”

Roxy quite liked how the young tailor had phrased that: _respect on a woman’s body_. “How soon can we get started?”

“Now, if you’d like. Measurements first. Then we can go through some cuts and fabrics. It’s a mix of your preference and what would flatter you best though I can think of few things that wouldn’t flatter you.” He said it so forthrightly that Roxy took it for the blunt observation that it was rather than a come on.

She wasn’t the betting sort, but she would put money on Gary batting for the home team. Alright, she was absolutely the betting sort and took great pleasure in winning the pools that circulated around the department, particularly if they involved the Round Table agents.

“It’s a long process, Ms. Morton. Particularly if you want multiple suits done at once. You’ll return in three weeks for your basted fitting, followed by a forward fitting. After that, if we’ve done everything right, the final fitting should be ready for you to walk out with. I’ve just finished several commissions, so I can dedicate most of my time to your wardrobe. Even so, it would take at least two, more likely three, months for the first suits you want to prioritize. The rest would take another three months to finish.”

“A bit more complicated than I imagined.”

Eggsy smiled reassuringly, “It’s more than the finished product. It’s also an experience, one that most of our clients quite enjoy. Shall we head to the fitting room?”

Roxy nodded firmly, a bit giddy to get started. She had never lacked for well-fitting clothes; both James and Harry insisted that clothes should properly drape on a man or a woman, but this was a whole new level of customization.

“Excellent. I’ll go find Liliy.”

She gave Eggsy a puzzled look. “What for?”

Eggsy returned her look with a playful grin of his own, “We run a respectable establishment here, Miss Morton. There’s at least thirty measurements to be taken, and it would be highly inappropriate for a young gent to be getting handsy with a lady customer.”

-

“Junior partner at your firm, eh?” Andrew quirked an eyebrow at Harry. He might have been a tailor all his life, but he knew Harry was no barrister. Andrew had taken Harry’s first measurements when he came in for his first bespoke suit at twenty-nine and every measurement since then.

He knew of no barrister who accumulated scars the way Harry did. He never asked about the injuries, preferring silent discretion with no desire to be lied to, however necessary. He suspected that Harry appreciated the same.

“She has a lot of promise,” was all Harry had to say on the matter.

“And the esteemed judge approves of his dear niece going down this… career path?” he continued, undeterred. “Does he even know?”

“To an extent. She can’t rightly fool a judge on this matter. She has her license all the same, passed all the… exams with flying colors. Should she choose to take early retirement, there will be a more provincial career waiting for her.”

Andrew snorted, “Miss Morton doesn’t look the type to take early retirement from anything.”

“It might very well be her best attribute, her tenacity.” Harry looked well pleased with himself. “And speaking of new careers, I didn’t realize Kingsman finally poached Gary back.”

“There was no poaching or headhunting involved,” Andrew sniffed, “Kingsman is above such petty tactics. Our reputation speaks for itself, talent comes to us, not the other way around.”

“Of course.”

“But really, Gary returned to Kingsman of his own volition, and with a wealth of valuable experiences at that. His mannerisms are still a bit unpolished, but he’s getting there. In a year or two, we’ll have him on the shop floor more often.”

“Not sure he’d enjoy that.”

Andrew nodded in agreement, “He does prefer the craft of the trade more than the sales, but he’ll have to learn to do the latter. It will be good for his career, and he’s particularly popular with the younger clientele like Miss Morton. They seem more open to expressing their opinions with him than the other fossils and dinosaurs that work here. He’s got a good eye for balancing new trends with traditions so that everyone is happy and no one walks out of Kingsman looking like some gaudy runway atrocity.”

Harry could only imagine what ideas the young gentry and nobility got into their pretty young heads after flipping through the latest issue of GQ.

“Yes, I can only imagine…”

“Just last week, it took a good hour for him to convince Chester King’s nephew that _Tangerine Tango_ was indeed _not_ a fashionable color for a silk waistcoat, never mind what that it was the Pantone color of year in 2012.”

“Charlie Hesketh,” Harry groused, remembering the entitled little snob. Then he also recalled that Roxy had thoroughly trounced him on the sparring mats, disabusing him of outdated notions of what ‘a woman’s place in the workplace’ entailed. “Give him a few years, and he’ll be doing community service for possession of some illegal substance or the other. Chester’s influence has to run out at some point before he crosses line of familial interest to outright bribery.”

“I had to have words with _Lord_ King about how my staff was to be treated after that visit. He called Gary some truly unspeakable names though Gary handled it admirably of course. He only stabbed the nephew once with the pin.”

Harry couldn’t help but throw his head back in laughter, adding, “He’s certainly coming into his own.” It was true, and he knew Andrew would take it for the compliment that it was.

“And your protégé’s in good hands,” Andrew said when their laughter died down, steering the conversation back to business, “He’s definitely one of our best cutter for women’s bespoke suits. He spends so much time in the workshop, I daresay he knows the fabrics almost as well as Merlin and myself. It’ll only take more time and hands-on experience for him to know the ins and outs of working them.”

The pride and fondness that Andrew felt for the boy was so obvious that Harry wondered how the tailor might react if he learned that Harry had been enamored of Gary going on eleven years.

Probably not well.

“I have no doubt that Gary will take good care of Roxy. You’re right to be proud of your son.”

“I’ve done my best with him though I’m afraid he’s picked up my habit of all work and no play. He seems content to spend all his time here. It’s made him frightfully competent, but a young lad like him should have a life outside of work, you know. Reminds me a bit of you, actually,” Andrew said pointedly, frowning at Harry over the rim of his glasses.

“He must have his social circle, attend soirees and such,” Harry shrugged off the subtle reprimand and easily deflected the topic back to Eggsy.

“For work when we send him as the Kingsman representative. No one much enjoys those events, not even the traditionalists, and he usually comes back complaining about ‘poncy gits with silver spoons shoved up their collective arse’ and other colorful language.”

“I can… sympathize with the sentiment all too well unfortunately.” Harry was a very minor lord, but he kept up appearances because it came in useful for getting into events and casing individuals of importance that got tied up in unpleasant business. He played the part of the reclusive nobility who couldn’t be arsed to socialize more than strictly necessary.

“He has few friends, most of them apprentices or junior tailors up and down the street. Some more interesting peacocks from his school days at St. Martin, a handful from Eton – fellow scholarship boys I think, and his mates from his unit if they happen to be nearby. Most days, he goes off for a few hours after work like clockwork – the local gym I think – after closing up the shop here. Walks his dog.”

Harry had always been curious about Gary’s brief stint in the marines before returning home with a medical discharge. He had visited Gary in the hospital with Andrew then. It had been heart wrenching to see the usually affable young man with his head bandaged and leg elevated in a swing, body covered in abrasions and bruises.

It was also then that Harry came to the startling realization that Andrew’s son was no longer a boy and the first frisson of desire came crawling to the surface. He had felt horrible for it, especially since he was seeing Gary injured, and decided then and there that his… infatuation would never be too closely examined.

Curiosity had led him to look up the younger Bridgmont’s records, which had been exemplary leading up to the discharge. Out of respect for his privacy, he never looked closely into what exactly led to the discharge, but he understood that it must have been serious and would likely exempt Gary from recruitment into MI6 as a field agent, potential notwithstanding.

“He was always an independent young lad, Andrew. And he has you and Margaret.” It didn’t seem to assuage the gentle tailor much though.

“Yes, well, Margaret keeps trying to set him up with dates with her friends’ sons, but nothing seems to stick.”

Harry only hummed in lieu of a response, tucking away the little tidbit of knowledge that Gary was of the same… persuasion as himself. He had suspected, but it was nice to have some confirmation.

“An old soul, you understand,” Andrew sighed heavily. Harry did understand. “Had to grow up too fast he did,” the elderly tailor continued morosely, “I don’t think growing up with Margaret and me helped much. Too old for kids we were when he came into our lives.”

“Nonsense, you’re wonderful parents, and Gary is a testament to that.”

“He’s thirty-two,” the tailor continued, “and I’ve never known him to carry on even the briefest relationship. I fear he’ll grow old lonely and alone while his youth flies him by.”

Harry sipped on his brandy for lack of any appropriate response. Andrew was concerned, but damned if Harry was just a little bit pleased that Gary was unattached to anyone.

-

Traffic was dreadful as usual, and Harry suppressed the urge to sigh. It was hardly the driver’s fault. He had a headache starting to creep up the back of his skull, but it would be rude to drop off into an undignified nap when Roxy was sharing the backseat with him.

“So how did you enjoy the bespoke experience?”

“I’m not sure I want to look at another fabric swatch again, but I quite liked it. Gary was very patient about explaining everything. Says he’ll give me a call for a basted fitting when everything’s ready.”

“And how did you like Gary?” Harry probed.

She narrowed her eyes at him, “A little more subtlety, if you please, Galahad. Especially from a veteran of the Twelve like yourself.”

He conceded his blunt approach with the nearest thing to a sheepish shrug, “That’s not how I meant it. I just think he’s a good lad to befriend. You could do with more friends who aren’t in the business of espionage.”

“Yes, just friends because you really want him for yourself,” she teased, “besides, I’d bet my career that he’s bent. Read my measurements like it was about as titillating as a mission debrief.”

“Lancelot…”

“Oh, please, you should just ask him out. I’ve never known you _not_ to go for it, so you must have it pretty bad.”

It was sad how true that was.

“He deserves more than a get-it-out-of-the-system shag.”

Roxy blinked, her mouth slightly agape before she snapped her jaw closed, “Wow, you _are_ gone on him.”

“I don’t think Andrew would appreciate me preying on his only son who’s almost twenty years my junior. He would find a way to strangle me with his tape measure. And let’s not forget I’ve known the boy since he was thirteen.”

She snorted at his protests, “You underestimate him. He’s too sharp to be preyed on by anyone. Had my measurements memorized at one glance – eidetic memory. And he’s hardly a boy now though, is he?” She said flippantly.

“A little more subtlety, if you please, Lancelot,” he groaned, tossing the line back at her, which only made her grin. “Besides, he’s young enough to be my son.”

“Now you exaggerate. Just because your gray hair came in early doesn’t mean you’re some washed up grandpa. You wipe the floor with the new recruits every year. I only beat you that time because I got a lucky knee to your nuts.”

“Please do try to be less crass.” She seemed entirely unaffected by the disapproving side eye he gave her.

“As if you’re not just as crude under that posh act you put on. Come on, you know you’re spry for a forty-something year old. God forbid you be remotely humble about it, strutting about the training center all Hollywood gratuitous shirtlessness.”

“I’m the definition of humility. And forty-eight, which incidentally makes me the oldest Round Table Twelve agent on record,” he rubbed the back of his neck. It didn’t look like his headache had plans of receding today.

“The gentlemen doth protest too much,” Roxy tutted. “I’m just saying, something to think about, Harry.”

And the universe must have been looking out for him because both their glasses pinged with a message from Merlin, bless the quartermaster.

-

Harry was blessedly deprived of any further teasing from Roxy thanks to a mission in Serbia that kept him away from London for a solid two months instead. It was only supposed to be reconnaissance, a quick in and out, but sudden Russian involvement had moved up the time table. He ended up having to stay and dismantle a weapons trafficking ring with only last minute backup from Bors.

He shouldn’t have expected his luck to last.

“So I hear yer carrying a torch for Bridgmont’s boy,” Merlin said as he checked the condition of Harry’s Rainmaker, making tutting noises at the bent wires and large holes in the fabric.

“He’s not a boy,” Harry snapped curtly, in no mood for even the gentlest ribbing from his friend. His entire body was sore. Bors had set his dislocated shoulder, but it still ached terribly. It hurt to breath and his knees were very unhappy from rooftop leap he had taken to avoid getting gunned down.

“Ah, no need to be a bore,” Merlin cackled, “I havnae seen you gone on anyone for a long time. Maybe we need to loosen you up with a wee nip of whiskey.”

“No need to rub it in.” And a bit of genuine heartache must have slipped through for Merlin quieted for a moment, taking in Harry’s tight expression.

“Aye, yer right. No need,” he acquiesced. “Medical’s expecting you, donnae make me chase your skinny arse down. Get that shoulder seen to and make sure you’ve not cracked any ribs.”

“It would be much more painful if any were. They’re just bruised.”

“We’ll let the doctor decide. The mission debriefs can wait, come back in a few days when you’re feeling less like a tossed bag of potatoes.”

Of course, Merlin was right. His fifth and sixth ribs were fractured – very minor but it meant he was off duty for four weeks at least. He was certain he was going to go out of his mind from boredom.

“Galahad, I don’t need to remind you that you’re not going to bounce back like you used to,” Dr. Lenten cautioned. “Honestly, have you considered retirement?”

“Yes, I've got a coffin ready for when that day comes.”

She rolled her eyes at the agent’s dramatics. “At least dialing back some of your more rigorous excursions then?”

His response was to narrow his eyes at the good doctor.

“This mission was supposed to be no contact reconnaissance,” he muttered darkly, “I don’t exactly take pleasure in situations going unexpectedly tits up.”

She sighed, knowing when she was talking to a lost cause. “Well, if you want to be back on active duty, then I suggest you rest as hard as you fight, Galahad. Your knees are inflamed, so nothing strenuous, not even a brisk walk. Your shoulder will need physical therapy once your ribs are healed enough to start that. Here,” she handed him a paper pouch, “antibiotics to stave off infection. Finish the bottle. You’ve got painkillers. Please don’t be macho. Take them, if only to help you sleep, which is absolutely critical for recovery.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it,” she pressed, determined to extract a promise out of the agent, “they’re the usual over the counter stuff. No opioids because I know you won’t take those. It’s nothing that’ll muddle your head, alright? Can I have your word that you’ll take them?”

There were two, three beats of silence before Harry finally relented, “Yes, Dr. Lenten.”

“Good man. Now get. I’ve got other patients to see to.”

He managed to drive himself back to Stanhope Mews, and he sat in the car for a good five minutes wondering if maybe it _was_ time to retire. The doctor was right that he didn’t bounce back from his encounters as easily as he used to. He no longer had the luxury of straying from his diet and workout regimen to keep up with the young agents. He might have been something of a legend, surviving twenty years as an active Round Table agent, the only relic of the previous millennia actually aside from Arthur himself.

He got out of the car when it started to warm up under the sun and forced himself upstairs for a well-deserved bath. He had bloody earned it, putting down those fucking Serbian goons. He was sorely tempted to make himself a martini but tamped down the urge. He didn’t want to become one of those agents that drank in the space of loneliness.

He was heading to check on the bath when his phone rang, and he set it on the sink counter.

“Harry Hart speaking.”

“I heard you’re back, and off-duty for the next month at least.”

Roxy.

“That’s right. Any suggestions on how to fill the time? I’m confident that I’ll be climbing the walls in a few days time.”

“I’ve got my second fitting coming up with Gary on Wednesday. He asked about you when I went in for the first fitting. Seemed genuinely disappointed when I told him you were on the continent for a business trip.”

He grunted in reply, gently peeling his shirt off his shoulder.

“We’ll have to tell him you were in a bad car accident,” Roxy carried on, “Your face isn’t too badly off, is it? It’s hard to explain away a shiner with a car accident.”

“No, my face is perfect as always, but I do feel like a walking contusion,” Harry groaned as he bent down to chuck anything washable into the laundry hamper.

Roxy tutted in sympathy, both of them understanding that he must really be aching to admit such a thing. “Do you want me to come around? I’ve just come back myself and Merlin’s put me on two weeks of mandatory rest.”

“Were you injured?”

“No. He’s just being cautious.”

Which meant that she had probably had to kill during her first mission. They would take her through the psych tests before her next mission.

“You’re alright?”

“I’m not entirely heartbroken about killing any human traffickers,” she said, her tone carefully casual.

It said something about Harry, and the kind of man his job had turned him into, that he felt a little bit relieved. It was for the best when the kills were easier to justify, and human traffickers rated low on their moral spectrum and high on deserves-to-die.

“Can I come around for dinner? I’ll cook.”

“Roxy…”

“I’m on day four and I’m prepared to die of boredom myself, I’ve watched two seasons of Doctor Who and I’ll lose all self-respect if I start watching Downtown Abbey. It’d be nice to have company while we both go stir-crazy.”

“As long as you promise not to fuss,” Harry said as he sighed into the hot bath, hissing a bit at the pleasure-pain of heat wrapping around his bruises.

“I would never,” she huffed in mock affront.

“Alright then. Six?”

“Make that five. I’ve got an osso buco recipe I’ve been dying to try, and foodnetwork.com says prep time is two hours and change.”

“Five it is then. Let yourself in,” he added though it was a given. She had been coming around his place since she was a teenager when she didn’t want to be alone but couldn’t head to her father’s place.

-

Roxy had already taken over the kitchen when he came down at half-past five.

“Can you cut the onions and celery?” she called over her shoulder. “Wait, nevermind, you shouldn’t be doing that with the ribs and all.”

“No, I can – ”

She swiped the cutting board and knife before he could say anymore.

“Sit. Rest. I’ve got this. Here,” she slid the papers across the kitchen island. “New crossword puzzle.”

They worked in companionable silence, Roxy singing along to some new pop drivel.

“I know that dress is karma, perfume regret. You got me thinking 'bout when you were mine,” she crooned, swaying gently to the beat.

“Good god, are all modern music so melodramatic?” He teased because he was a good uncle and it was his duty to impugn the musical tastes of the younger generation.

“And now I'm all up on ya, what you expect? But you're not coming home with me tonight,” she carried on, using the spoon she was using to taste test as a mock mic. “I mean, it’s about as melodramatic as that opera you listen to. Seriously, what cop kills himself because a con saves his life?”

“That’s Les Miserable and you know it’s a musical.”

“Whatever, you have no leg to stand on when it comes to melodramatic music,” she scoffed and then beckoned him over. “Come, taste. Does it need more salt?”

He took the wooden spoon and took a small sip, “No, let it simmer. The water will evaporate and it’ll be just right by the time the meat is ready.”

“I knew you were useful to have around for a reason,” she smirked. “But really, you should cook more often, you’re wonderful at it. I remember when you used to come around and kick the kitchen staff out to cook for Papa and me.”

He hummed in response, “I may need your help for this one, yellow… Teletubby?”

Roxy burst out laughing, “No, that’s not a clue!”

“It is. 82 across. Starts with an ‘L’ and ends with an ‘A’.”

“Laalaa, L-A-A-L-A-A.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” she said, “I only know it because I used to babysit Mischa next door when I was younger and home for the hols. Teletubbies are from a children’s program though I always thought they were a bit creepy and weird, to be honest. Giant… colored babies with television screens on their stomach.”

“No wonder the youth of today are going mental,” Harry muttered, neatly writing the final ‘A’ of the ridiculous name. “Il Trovatore heroine… Leonora obviously.”

“How is that ‘obviously’?” Roxy challenged, reaching for around the cupboards for the large plates. “You’re like a wannabe inspector Morse, I swear, you and your love of opera.”

“I resent that comparison,” he said, finally getting up to set up the cutlery. “Any preference for wine?”

“Up to you. You’re the amateur sommelier here.”

“I’ve got a Sangiovese from 2009. Not one I’ve heard of, but it was a gift from Gwaine.”

“He probably asked the shopkeeper, so it can’t be that bad. Can you have wine actually?”

“Yes, I’m not taking anything stronger than ibuprofen.”

The conversation flowed easily, as it always had. Roxy didn’t even mention Gary once.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry accompanies Roxy to the tailors for a fitting, half an inch of progress is made, and fates conspire to bring Eggsy to Harry again.

It had been late June when Harry had first brought Roxy to Kingsman, the height of summer. It was already early September now – did time really go by so fast? – and the weather was on the cusp of turning, leaves just starting to darken at the tips.

Eggsy was already waiting for Roxy when she and Harry arrived.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Morton,” he greeted them with a luminous smile before it dimmed a bit upon seeing Harry’s condition, “Mr. Hart, what happened? Are you well?”

Harry couldn’t quite hide the grimace, born less out of pain and more from embarrassment. The prideful part of him stung at being seen in this condition by the object of his… whatever this undefined thing was. The arm sling hardly complemented his suit, and there was nothing good to be said about his complexion.

Roxy already had a cover story ready, bless her. “Harry got into a bit of a wreck in Belgrade on his way back to the hotel, really dreadful affair. He’s feeling a tad banged up.”

“I can imagine. Should you be up and about, Mr. Hart?” Gary looked genuinely concerned, brows furrowing. It was… frankly adorable and endearing as hell, Roxy had to admit, no wonder Harry was arse over tits gone on the young man. He gently took Harry by the elbow and guided him to one of the plush wingback chairs, his hand a featherweight, fleeting touch that made Harry want to lean into the younger man. “I’ll fetch Lily or Todd, having them bring you some tea and then we’ll have Ms. Morton sorted.”

“There’s no need – ”

“Nonsense, I’d have words with your doctor, letting you move about so soon,” Gary tutted, looking at Harry with a moue of disapproval, and turned to Roxy, “would it be alright to wait five minutes while I get someone?”

“Not a problem at all,” Roxy said. When Gary was out of earshot, she snickered, “I guess it’s worth getting injured if he’s going to dote on you like this. Imagine if you could have him waiting at home for you after your missions.”

He would never admit that the same line of thought had crossed his mind. One could dream.

-

Roxy beamed at Eggsy as she tried on the first suit. “This is amazing,” she gushed, “really, to say it fits like a glove wouldn’t do it justice. I don’t think there’s anything that needs to be adjusted actually.” She admired the suit in the triple mirror, turning this way and that and admiring the cut of the jacket. The pants fit in such a way as to accentuate her figure and make her legs look like they went for miles.

“We’ll check just in case, but it does look like a perfect fit,” he agreed. Eggsy lived for this feeling of a job well done.

It had been difficult to leave the marines, but his epilepsy would always be too much liability. Even now when it was well-managed and his episodes were down to maybe two or three times a year at most, it would be risky to have a soldier who could have a seizure at any moment. He had been lucky that his first and last episode as a marine had happened during a training exercise. He ended up falling off a sniper’s nest as a result, but no one else had been hurt or died because of him.

The oncologists and neurologists at St. Bartholomew’s had told him he was very fortunate. What a stroke of luck that the tumor had been located in such a way that triggered a seizure which led to its early detection. He hadn’t felt very lucky then, especially when remission didn’t bring a stop to the seizures. Apparently, whatever damage had been done to cause them was permanent.

When he returned home, he threw himself into his second passion with Andrew’s help, and he was very glad that he had. It started as a way to help him forget the pain of losing a career he had worked at for years. Now though, he couldn’t picture himself anywhere but at Kingsman, sharing in the elation with clients like Roxy.

“Shall we step outside to show Harry?”

“Yes, of course, wait,” Roxy whirled around to face him, “Did you just say Harry?”

“I mean, Mr. Hart,” he looked away quickly though it was really for naught because he could feel his ears burning, his cheek flushing scarlet with embarrassment.

“You did!”

He prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“You can’t back out now,” she pressed on. Eggsy could easily imagine what made her such an amazing barrister, relentless as she was. “You should call him Harry, he’d really like that. It would make him feel better – especially right now.”

Never let it be said that Roxy didn’t know the right heartstrings to tug at.

“I-it wouldn’t be appropriate,” he stammered, trying to backpedal out of the situation as fast as he could.

“I would die to see the look on his fast when you call him by his given name,” she could see that Gary was close to relenting, so she reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Believe me, he won’t mind at all.”

“If you really think it would brighten his day a bit,” he caved finally, “is he alright though? He was breathing and moving like he might have some bruised ribs.”

“That’s because he does, but he’ll be alright as long as he doesn’t try anything strenuous.”

“A car accident you said?”

“I think the seat belt and whiplash was a bit rough on him.”

“I see,” Eggsy nodded. That sounded reasonable enough. “Did he dislocate his shoulder, too? His arm sling…”

“I think the first responders were a bit hasty in pulling him out of the car,” Roxy covered quickly, “the petrol was leaking or something and they were worried about fire hazards.”

That sounded odd to Eggsy, but he nodded. There was no reason for Roxy to lie about any of this.

“Don’t try to distract me. You have to call him Harry, okay?” She said, already heading toward the door, and beamed when he sighed and nodded.

-

Harry was stirred out of his thoughts by the clear timbre of Gary’s voice.

“Harry, would you like to look at Ms. Morton’s first bespoke suit?”

He blinked, “Um.” His eyes tracked from Gary to Roxy, who had the most shit-eating grin possible.

“Are you alright?” Eggsy asked again. He was genuinely concerned now and half-wondered if Harry had a concussion on top of everything else.

“I really wish I had a camera for this moment,” Roxy crowed, “this might be the first time anyone has rendered the great Harry Hart speechless. Come along, Gary, I think you broke Harry’s brain. Let’s go try on the next suit.”

“If you’re sure he’s alright.”

“He’ll snap out of it soon enough.”

-

Harry was better prepared when Roxy came out to show off the second suit and he narrowed his eyes at his protégé.

“I’m very sorry, Gary, you caught me by surprise little is all,” he apologized, “but I’m very glad all the same that it only took nineteen years to hear my name from your lips.”

And if that wasn’t some borderline romantic epistolary poetry, Roxy didn’t know what was. She very much wished she had a secret camera crew to record this whole encounter. Well, Merlin would just have to live with her retelling of it.

“Oh, well, if I’m going to be calling you Harry, then I have to insist you call me Eggsy.”

“Eggy?” Roxy said, not sure that she had heard correctly.

“Eggsy, it’s a nickname of mine. Born on Easter you see.”

-

“Aren’t you glad you got pummeled in Serbia and came to my fitting with me?” Roxy was high on her victory on the drive back to Harry’s house.

“A proper gentlewoman does not gloat, Roxy.”

“A proper gentleman does not sulk. And don’t act like you’re even remotely upset about it,” she said in a sing-song lilt, “Eggsy and Harry sitting on a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“I ought to throw you out of the cab,” he rumbled, determined not to let Roxy’s teasing get the better of his mood. He might still feel like a walking bruise, but truth be told, he was on cloud nine. Gary – no, Eggsy – had called him Harry.

Both felt like precious gifts.

Harry.

Eggsy.

-

Andrew always let Eggsy take the day off when he went in for his biannual checkup. They happened like clockwork during the first weeks of May and November. They were only a precaution, but he couldn’t help but be keyed up for days leading up to them. The doctors would run him through a battery of neurological tests, drawing clocks and testing reflexes, and shoved him in the MRI machine for too long where he struggled to stay awake despite the clanging and humming of the machine. These checkups always started with an early morning blood test because he had to fast for a full 24 hours ahead of time, and by the time they wrapped up, he was torn whether he was more hungry for lunch or a long nap.

He usually went home straightaway, but today he decided to stop by the shop, getting off the bus one stop earlier than usual so that he could make a detour through a small park for J.B. to do his business.

Todd was in Brazil for his brother’s wedding, so Eggsy knew they were a bit short-handed. He envied Todd a little bit right now even if he was probably baking under the southern hemisphere sun into a ginger lobster; Eggsy had forgotten his scarf and gloves at home this morning – he could picture exactly where he had left them this morning – and the cold wind was nipping at the nape of his neck and biting his exposed ears with frosty little teeth.

“Eggsy, you didn’t need to come in today, it’s been fairly slow all morning,” Andrew fussed when Eggsy finally reached the blessed warmth of the shop. He pressed a warm mug of hot chocolate into Eggsy’s frozen fingers, “you should be at home.”

“I’m fine,” he reassured Andrew, “the doctors said everything looked normal. Anything I can help with?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Andrew said, “there’s a delivery we were going to wait to make until Todd came back.”

“I can do it, it’s no bother. If I take a cab instead of the company car, I can head home after dropping the items off.”

“Very good, I’ll get them sorted into the garment bags while you warm up. You shouldn’t be wandering around underdressed for the weather like this.”

Eggsy was staring longingly at the last dregs of the hot chocolate at the bottom of his mug when Andrew was back with what looked like two suits and a bulkier coat. He had an envelope with the order details and client information, which he pressed into Eggsy’s hands.

“Margaret and I will stop by for dinner tonight.”

It was a tradition of sorts for them to have dinner together after the check-ups, something to reaffirm that Eggsy was okay, still in remission, and everything was going to keep being okay. Margaret would make enough borscht – her mother’s recipe – to feed the Russian army, heap spoonfuls of sour cream into Eggsy’s bowl, and they would watch _My Fair Lady_ before turning in for the night.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, dad.”

It was only when Eggsy was in the cab already, the garment bags carefully lying across his lap, that he cursed himself for not checking exactly who he was delivering to.

Neatly printed on the egg-white paper, Kingsman logo elegantly embossed at the top, was the name and address of none other than Lord Harry Reginald Hart.

“ _Fuck me_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxy cajoles Eggsy into staying for lunch at Harry's. It's lovely and awkward, and another inch of progress is made.
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos! The story will pick up (eventually). I apologize for the snail's pace plot. Maybe I should add #slowburn to the tags? There will be action. There will be smut. I just don't know exactly how many chapters it's going to take...

Harry’s house was a charming little white number. It looked small, but Eggsy suspected it went pretty deep. It was clearly well maintained, which was no surprise given the neighborhood. He asked the cab driver to wait for five minutes and fortified himself with a deep breath before stepping out into the chill. He had barely raised a hand for the knocker when the door opened to reveal Roxy standing there in a long-sleeve grey sweater dress that well suited her.

“Eggsy!” She beamed at him than looked down at the dog sitting obediently at Eggsy’s feet, “And J.B., too! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Ms. Morton,” he managed and upon seeing one of her perfect eyebrows quirk in teasing challenge, quickly corrected himself, “Roxy.”

“Much better,” she smiled warmly, “come in, you look like you’re well and truly frozen solid out there.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m just here to make a delivery for Mr. Hart before heading home,” he raised the garment bags he had draped over his left arm.

“Home, you’re not working today?” Roxy inquired, latching on to this little tid bit of information.

“Just here to drop these off as a favor to Todd and Mr. Bridgmont,” he explained. He was getting really cold now, and he glanced behind at the cabbie who was probably getting impatient. J.B. was probably getting cold, too. He should have gotten the sweater Margaret had knitted for the dog.

“Then all the more reason for you to come in. And J.B., too. I was just here to settle in my dog with Harry for the week while I was out of the country,” she swiftly unloaded him of the garment bags he’d been holding, “do let the cab driver know he can be on his way. Harry and I are having lunch before I head to the airport, and he’s made too much gnocchi again.”

“I couldn’t impose like – ” he started only to be steamrolled into her plans.

“Nonsense, the more the merrier,” she lowered her voice so as to sound a little conspiratorial, “Harry’s a few days out from getting the all clear from his doctor, and he’s been going a little stir crazy from anticipation. It would do him tremendous good to have the company of a friend.”

Eggsy was starting to learn that Roxanne Morton was not a force to be reckoned with and it was best not to swim against the tide of her personality. He paid the cabbie, tipping him extra for needlessly waiting on him; the man winked at Eggsy, clearly getting the wrong idea about him and Roxy, and he was off before Eggsy could say anything to set the record straight.

Roxy took his coat and hung it in the closet by the front door next to where she had also put Harry’s suits and coat delivery. A tall black poodle was resting in a canine bed near the fireplace; the dog merely raised its head before settling down to nap again, remotely uninterested in the new guest and his fellow canine companion.

“That’s Beretta, she’s the sweetest thing you’ll ever meet. But come on, Harry’s in the kitchen.”

“Beretta?” Eggsy chuckled, “Because poodles are gun dogs? A bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

She winked at him and guided him deeper into the house. “Harry! Could you get the kettle started for some tea? Eggsy’s here, and he’s frozen solid. Honestly, no gloves, not even a scarf.”

Eggsy sighed internally, wondering what it was about him that seemed to bring out the mothering instinct in everyone. He didn’t have much time to think on it though because there was Harry. He was dressed in a white shirt, dark grey wool slacks, and an _apron_. He had the sleeves rolled up, revealing the well-proportioned and sinewy flex of his forearms.

It was unfair and cruel, Eggsy thought, for a man to look that attractive in a goddamn apron.

“Oh, Eggsy,” Harry blinked in surprise.

“I was just coming over to drop off your new suits and coat,” he explained, “Todd’s in Brazil for a wedding, and I was just heading home so…”

“I see,” Harry looked just as bewildered as Eggsy.

Roxy rolled her eyes, “He’s staying for lunch, isn’t that right, Eggsy?”

“Um…”

“Please do stay,” Harry said, recovering from his initial stupor, “And excuse the attire, I’ve been caught quite unprepared.”

“No!” Eggsy blurted then repeated, a bit more sedate this time, “no, not at all. You look fit, I mean great. Good. Er…” Dear god, someone tape his mouth shut, he prayed. “Especially since the last time we met. Oh god, I didn’t even ask, are you feeling better? After the car accident.”

“Yes, perfectly recovered. The doctors just want to be extra cautious. The ribs were a bit more stubborn to mend this time around.”

"This time around?"

"I'm afraid I've always been rather clumsy and accident prone."

"You? That couldn't be true."

"Wish it wasn't, myself," Harry said as he wiped damp hands on the apron, “I'm just glad the doctors will soon clear me to go back to my usual routine.”

Eggsy had half a mind to ask what his usual routine was because Harry was a _very_ fit bloke in every sense of the word, but he figured he didn’t need to shove that foot any further down his throat.

“Oh, good. I’m glad, too. Mr. Bridgmont was also very concerned when he heard about it.”

“And is your father doing well?” Harry inquired, “and please, have a seat and make yourself at home. Roxy, would you be so kind as to help set another place for Eggsy?” He motioned to the chair he had just pulled out for Eggsy

“Oh, thank you. And yes, he’s doing very well. Sends his regards. Do you need any help or…” He sat down reluctantly, looking up at Harry and Roxy uncertainly. It was impossibly awkward, sitting down as if waiting to be served, especially when he had just learned that Harry was a lord of some sort and he knew that Roxy was related to a High Court Judge.

Roxy seemed utterly unperturbed by the current set of circumstances and merely waved him off. “You’re the guest, so you better stay put,” she said as she set another placemat, some basic cutlery, and a cup of tea in front of Eggsy.

“I think my mother would have some words about me being quite useless as a guest,” he tried, doing his best not to fidget nervously.

“If you must, I wouldn’t mind some help cleaning up afterward after we see Roxy off to the airport,” Harry said as he sat down after Roxy. “Please, help yourself to anything, and there’s more of everything in the kitchen.”

“Where’s Roxy going?” he asked, waiting for Roxy to finish her first pass with the bowl of pasta. Ladies first and all that.

“We have a client in Sweden,” she explained, “usually someone else would make these trips, but our Scandinavian specialist is on vacation to… where was it, Harry?”

“Alisdair? Hm… I didn’t ask. Uruguay or something?”

What Harry and Roxy were deftly glossing over was that Alisadair Madsen, otherwise known as Gawain, was investigating a possible bioweapon in Colombia. A warehouse full of farmhands had seemingly gone Battle Royale on each other; the local authorities were chalking it up to the usual drug-related violence, but one look at the aftermath indicated that it was decidedly not.

Another minor detail that the two smiling spooks were neglecting to mention that the “client” in Sweden was the Swedish royal family itself. Princess Tilde was making a formal state visit in January, and Roxy had been assigned as the British liaison for the princess' protection detail for the duration of the visit. These babysitting missions usually turned out to be mind-numbingly dull and yet managed to be a total and complete headache, given that security had to plan for every contingency and then more contingencies for those contingencies…

“But enough about our boring jobs and our even more boring colleagues,” Roxy said, “how have you been Eggsy? You mentioned you’re off work today. Special occasion?”

“Er… sort of,” he nodded slowly, looking at Roxy with her open, expectant expression, then at Harry, who was looking at him over the rim of his cup. “Andrew lets me have the day off when I go in for my checkups,” he said finally, voice a little subdued. He didn't like lying if he didn't have to.

“Oh,” they both said, looking at each other then back at Eggsy

Desperate to have this awkwardness over this, he quickly added, “and everything came back alright! My oncologist just wants to take the usual precautions.” He ignored the way both Roxy’s and Harry’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of an oncologist and carried on, “It was over 10 years ago already. The tumor’s never come back.”

“But…” Roxy glanced at J.B. and his service vest.

“Yes, that… er, the seizures started with the tumor. It didn’t go away even after… after. J.B.’s really good about it though,” he said with a smile, reaching down the scratch the dog behind the ears. “He seems to know before I do when one’s coming, he’s amazing like that. But the episodes aren’t very frequent anyway, my neurologist has been really great at helping me manage them. Honest, I usually forget it’s even a problem most days.”

Except on the days when the medication made him feel like he was a sailor who’d lost his sea legs, nausea roiling in his stomach while his head spun like he was hanging upside down strapped to a playground merry-go-round.

No need to bring up all that unpleasant business though. He was already pretty certain that he’d thoroughly ruined this lunch already.

“Shall we toast then?” Roxy said suddenly, “To another year in remission? And another hundred years to follow.”

Her smile held none of the stiff discomfort that people pasted on when confronted with the realities of Eggsy’s medical history. She looked genuinely relieved, and he appreciated it immensely, her facing his reality head-on rather than trying to sidestep it.

“To Eggsy,” Harry agreed, “whose friendship is a gift Roxy and I are very glad to have.”

“Thank you,” Eggsy chuckled as they clinked their water glasses against each other, “come on, now, you’ve both sufficiently embarrassed and flattered me.”

“I have it on good authority that true friends are obligated to embarrass each other as much as possible,” Roxy said, a sly grin lifting one corner of her lip, “like that time in Peru that Harry – ”

“Roxy is a rotten lying liar,” Harry interrupted loudly, “and you should never, ever heed a word of anything she has to say, particularly if it has anything to do with me. She’s very prone to exaggeration and embellishment and sometimes outright conflagration.”

Eggsy did eventually end up hearing about that time in Peru when Harry had an altercation with an alpaca and lost his favorite silk tie for the trouble. The rest of the lunch passed easily in light banter and a stream of stories about Roxy’s childhood and Harry’s days as a young man in school and uni.

When Roxy finally took her leave, extracting a promise from Harry that, yes, of course, he would walk Beretta twice a day. They saw her off to the airport, Eggsy loading her suitcase in the boot while Harry helped her into the cab.

Ever the helpful guest, Eggsy helped Harry clean up, doing the washing while Harry dried the dishes beside him. It was oddly domestic, and even without Roxy, conversation flowed easily as if they had been friends for much longer than an afternoon. As if Eggsy wasn’t just the son of Harry’s tailor and they saw each other more than once or twice a year. He didn’t think he was imagining the little smiles that passed between them when their elbows brushed.

When it came time for Eggsy to leave, Harry handed him a soft, well-worn cashmere scarf.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” and he really couldn’t. He knew how much that scarf cost. He had wrapped it up in delicate tissue paper for Harry two winters ago. And oh god, he really was obsessed, wasn’t he? To remember a little detail like that.

“I insist,” Harry said as he casually draped the doubled scarf over Eggsy’s head and tucked the fringes into the loop to make a Parisian knot. “You mustn’t walk around today’s weather like this.”

“Harry…”

“I would lend you a pair of gloves if they would fit.”

Eggsy looked down at Harry’s large, capable hands adjusting the scarf so that it was tucked just so against the collar of his coat. If Harry splayed his hands on Eggsy, it would probably more than span his chest. Harry’s hand could probably easily cup the nape of his neck, wrap around Eggsy’s ankles, maybe both his wrists at once, and oh god, he really needed to stop this line of thinking before he tented his trousers in while standing in the doorway of the older gentleman’s home.

“Well, the cab is here,” Harry looked a bit disappointed that their afternoon was coming to an end. Something in the slight downward tilt of his lips, in the minute slumping of his shoulders. For all that he could look impenetrable in his suits, a knight in armor, Eggsy was starting to see the tiny little tells in the older gentleman.

Maybe it was that thought, that he might know Harry a little better after today and would very much like to know him more, that gave him the courage to lean forward, tiptoe a little – damn Harry for being so tall, and lightly brush his lips against Harry’s cheek, just missing the corner of his mouth.

“May I call you later?” he asked softly, gently squeezing Harry’s hands.

“Please do.”

If Eggsy looked back through the rear window of the cab like some besotted fool, maybe Harry was just as besotted for staying outside until the cab turned the corner and neither could see each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy calls. Merlin is about to drop a motherload of surprises on Harry's lap.

Harry dragged his hand over his face, cupping his mouth in frustration before throwing himself into a spinning office chair. It creaked and swayed under his weight.

“We’re getting nowhere,” he moaned.

He and Merlin had commandeered the large media review room, which consisted of two adjacent walls covered with flat screens, a few tables, and more rolling office chairs scattered randomly about.

Both walls of screens were working at full capacity, peppered with photos of missing VIPs. Hours after everyone on the day shift had headed home, they were again attempting to draw a connection between the missing – and again coming up empty.

“I just dinnae understand,” Merlin grumbled, his Scottish brogue thicker with exhaustion and frustration, and thumped his head against the wall. “Who in their right mind would kidnap Iggy Azalea? What’s so great about her?”

“It’s not for you to judge people’s taste in music,” Harry said, flipping through a stack of news reports, “are we sure she’s not in rehab somewhere?”

“She wouldn’t go missing when she had concerts left on her tour. Her agent is genuinely concerned and even they wouldn’t go so far as file a false missing person report.”

That made sense. It might be the only fucking thing that made sense so far.

“What’s most puzzling is that,” Harry breathed out heavily, “no one is claiming responsibility. Not even a ransom request. Also, the prime minister is breathing down our necks to find Elton John. Apparently he was a fan. Well, technically the MI5's necks. Not us, but same difference.”

“Buggering fuck, Elton John’s missing, too?”

Nothing made sense.

“Alright, let’s categorize,” Harry stood abruptly, “we’ve got world leaders missing, which, fuck, let’s skip the utter absurdity of how they’re seemingly disappearing into thin air. So, category one – political figures. Then we’ve got category two – CEO’s and other wealthy folks.”

“Category three: artists, not all of the A-list famous though.”

“Doesn’t matter. Final category, we’ve got scientists, including some Nobel laureates. The deans of Oxford and Cambridge are, if you’re wondering, also breathing down our necks.”

For a few seconds, silence reigned between the two tired men, punctuated only by the ticking of the secondhand of the clock on the far wall.

“You know…” Harry began, careful with his words lest he sound completely insane, “and I’m blaming sleep deprivation for this idea, but if there was ever a Noah’s arc of the human race…”

Sure enough, Merlin was looking at him like he’d completely lost his marbles.

“It was only a suggestion,” Harry said defensively, “stop looking at me like that.”

“You’ve been watching too many spy movies,” Merlin said flatly.

“Oh, kindly fuck off, Merlin, I don’t have time to – ”

They both froze at the sound of…

“Really, Merlin? The Exorcist theme song?” Harry patted his suit jacket and withdrew the flashy – and ridiculously delicate – iPhone that he never used, come to think of it. Merlin took pleasure in changing the ringtone at random intervals.

“Tubular Bells actually,” Merlin said, grinning, “well, are you going to answer it or not?”

Harry thumbed the green button, resolutely ignoring the way Merlin’s eyes followed him, curious and keen. “Harry Hart speaking,” he said, a tad more gruffly than necessary.

Merlin’s curiosity could be forgiven because no one _ever_ called Harry on his ‘personal’ mobile without the call being planned in advance as part of his cover as a successful barrister. The boffins in Merlin’s department made sure to update it every other year or so, to keep up the image as it were, but he often went months without the phone seeing any use.

There were other agents who used their ‘personal’ mobile on non-work-related day to day interactions, but Harry didn’t have many non-work interactions to speak of – not even telemarketers. In terms of having a work-life balance, Harry sat on the extreme of ‘work’. Rather, it would be more accurate to say that he was off the spectrum entirely. The fact that his best friend was the quartermaster – and their idea of entertainment was testing the latest contraptions that the minions in Merlin’s department came up with – was evidence enough of that.

“Um, did I catch you at a bad time?”

Eggsy.

He felt a little bit of an asshole for how he answered the call now.

“Not at all, I’ve actually been berating myself actually. For not giving you my number yesterday,” he admitted, glancing at Merlin, whose eyebrows had crawled up higher on his bald head like a pair of caterpillars.

“Oh, I, er, got it from the delivery invoice.”

Harry remembered stashing the invoice in the drawer of the halfmoon table in his foyer.

“I hope that’s not as… stalkerish and creepy as it sounds,” Eggsy murmured.

“You can’t help that you’ve got a good memory,” Harry said, both a reminder and an observation. Roxy had said that Eggsy had an eidetic memory, hadn’t she?

“For the important things,” the younger man said, a little shy and a little bold. Goddamn it, but it was fucking adorable is what it was.

“I’m glad you called,” Harry replied, not sure what else to say while a mellow warmth percolated and pooled in his chest, rising from a source that he was sure had dried up years and years ago.

“Er, me too? I mean, definitely me too.” Eggsy sounded like he was laughing a little bit. “I did call with a purpose in mind though.”

“Did you now?”

“Some friends of mine are opening up a restaurant this weekend in Soho. Or a pub. But with good food.”

“A gastropub.”

“Something like that, yeah. It’s supposed to have some hipster twist to it. If it’s not your scene – ”

“I’d love to go,” Harry said before Eggsy had a chance to doubt himself much more.

Merlin was making a crude hand-job gesture and ducked with a shit-eating grin when Harry threw a pen at him in retaliation.

“Oh, alright,” he sounded a little surprised that Harry had agreed so quickly, “good.”

“Casual, yes?”

“Yeah, yes.” Eggsy paused briefly before he teased, “Does Lord Harry Reginald Hart even _do_ casual?”

Harry groaned a little bit, but he took it as a good sign that Eggsy had a sense of humor about the whole ‘lord’ nonsense.

“Allow this minor lord to surprise you,” he said, mentally patting himself on the back for the smooth repartee.

“Yeah,” Eggsy chuckled, mirth bubbling to the surface to replace the nervousness, “yeah, alright.”

“And the name of the place?”

“The Carbine, on Kingly Street.”

Interesting name, Harry mused.

“Noted. Am I correct in assuming this would be for Saturday?”

“That’s right, seven o’clock? I’ll see you there?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Perfect,” Eggsy echoed, “Um, well, have a good night. I hope I didn’t call too late.”

“You didn’t. As I said, I’m truly very glad you called.”

“I’ll take your word for it. See you Saturday?”

“Saturday. Good night, Eggsy.”

“Good night,” there was a little pause, “milord.” The little minx cackled and hung up before Harry could have the last word.

Harry held the phone even after Eggsy hung up, hardly cognizant of the dial tone ringing in his ear.

“You look like a loon, standing there smiling all creepy like that,” Merlin said, tossing the pen back at him. Harry wasn’t even mad when it bounced off his waistcoat. “Sounds like you got a date with the nubile young tailor, eh?”

“As a matter of fact I do,” he said firmly, settling himself back down into another office chair. He propped his feet up and couldn’t contain the self-satisfied smile.

“Would you like me to do a background check on him?”

Harry groaned and buried his face into his hands, “Merlin, it’s been fifteen years…”

“And if memory serves, Sadie Wilkinson, aka Galina Viktorova, aka one of the most bloodthirsty FSB operatives, nearly killed you fifteen years ago. She would have, too, if you didn’t throw her in front of a double-decker bus first. I think it’s worth mentioning is all.”

“Merlin, I’ve known the boy since he was a wee lad.”

Merlin blinked. “I’m honestly not sure if that’s better or worse,” he said before promptly bursting in laughter.

“Yes, alright, laugh it up at my expense.”

“You’re a cradle robber, you are,” his best friend chortled.

“Hardly, Eggsy will be thirty two next April.”

“Actually, that’s not so bad,” Merlin said, “that said, he’s still Andrew Bridgmont’s son. Does his father know?”

“There really hasn’t been anything _to_ know about really. This is our first… date. And if it ever gets to that point, I plan to postpone such conversations as much as possible,” he admitted, “I don’t think Andrew would be exactly thrilled about Eggsy and I seeing each other.”

“The age difference?”

“Andrew wouldn’t give a toss about the age difference. Margaret is twelve years Andrew’s senior. And he doesn’t care that Eggsy is gay either.”

“What’s the issue then?” Merlin asked even though he had a pretty good idea of what Harry was about to say already.

It was, after all, his job to know; the quartermaster was the eyes and ears of MI6. He just needed to confirm his hunch about what Harry suspected because Merlin was about to dump a shitload of surprises on his best friend’s lap, and this was as good of a springboard as any to start from.

“Andrew’s not a stupid man, Merlin,” Harry finally said, “He knows I’m no barrister. He keeps mum about it, but I think he’s known for a while. He certainly cottoned on rather quickly that Roxy wasn’t going to hanging about Temple district in a wig and court robes in James’ court.”

Merlin nodded, his silent acknowledgement a sign for Harry to continue.

“And,” Harry continued cautiously because this wasn’t the reaction he had expected, and Merlin had that _look_ , “I take it this isn’t a surprise to you.”

“Well, not entirely.”

This time it was Harry who waited for Merlin to elaborate.

“Andrew Bridgmont is not a security concern. And his son’s background check has always come back clean. The both of them are in the clear, for reasons that have nothing to do with your budding,” he made a vague motion with his free hand, “whatever with Eggsy.”

It was true. The younger Bridgmont had had an MI6 file since he was a teen; a file which grew in content as his life unfolded in unexpected ways. Harry’s involvement only added a few more pages.

Harry peered at Merlin with wary eyes, “What exactly are you saying, Merlin.”

“It might not change how Bridgmont senior feels about you and his son, but he’s been an asset to us here and there,” Merlin said. “As for Eggsy, he was on the MI6 recruitment short list from the moment he joined the Royal Marines; his scores piqued our interest. His medical discharge bumped him off the list obviously, but we continued to keep an eye on him for reasons related to his father’s involvement.”

“Hold on, you said ‘asset’. You’re talking about Andrew, not Eggsy.”

“Yes.”

“And what _does_ Andrew know?”

“Very little, strictly speaking. He knows that he has been providing a valuable service to Queen and country every once in a while,” Merlin said vaguely.

“What kind of services? For fuck’s sake, just tell it straight, Mark,” Harry spat, resorting to using his friend’s given name.

“Picking up snippets of conversation, planting a bug here and there into a suit jacket or maybe in a room when he makes house calls. He’s never privy to more details than the bare minimum to do his job. A worker bee, if you will.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Harry stood abruptly, pacing, “since bloody _when_?”

“Long, long before our time actually,” Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle, “that ship sailed decades ago. Andrew started working at Kingsman since the early eighties when we was wee lads at Eton. By the time you started uni, he was already on SIS payroll.”

Harry looked dumbfounded and a little betrayed.

“You forget, Harry, that he was my predecessor’s tailor long before he was yours. But if you’re wondering whether he’s made a connection between the occasional favors he does for us and your mystery occupation, then no. Speculations perhaps but nothing more.”

“He’s putting his family at risk,” Harry noted.

“On the contrary, it’s part of the family business I think,” Merlin countered, “driven by some personal motivations perhaps? His wife barely escaped the Soviet Union when the rest of her family was sent to the gulag for being a thorn in the side of the communist party.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Family business?”

“Andrew’s parents fled Germany before the Nazi party started rounding everybody up into concentration camps. His father, Abraham, was the first of the Bridgmont generation to work at Kingsman and was a reliable informant while Churchill held office. Records indicate that he kept the government abreast of the activities of wealthier Nazi sympathizers in London.”

“Eggsy’s not involved though?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” His mouth shaped each word carefully, a polite snarl if there ever was one.

Merlin cocked his head, considering his best mate’s steely gaze, “My, my, Harry, your protective claws are showing.”

“I mean it, Mark.”

“Harry,” Merlin turned to his laptop and wiped the photographs on the screens and pulled up Eggsy’s photo on the screens. Several actually, starting with a young Eggsy with a crew cut and a military uniform, another of him in a hospital gown, below which were various images that Harry recognized as MRI images. The most recent photograph was of Eggsy waiting at a bus stop but dressed… a little bit like a chav? – it was strange but strangely suited the lad. “We weren’t planning on bringing in Eggsy for a while, but he would have taken Andrew’s place eventually.”

Harry let out his breath slowly. “It’s a bit old fashioned, isn’t it?”

“True,” Merlin agreed, “but you’d be surprised at how effective and helpful such basic footwork is. People get chatty in the dressing room. It’s one of those places with the illusion of privacy, much in the same way that tailors are expected to be discreet. People aren’t afraid to let their tailors into areas of their homes that only the help would usually have access to. Something about dressing a person that disarms them I suppose.”

“And it helps?”

“Let’s just say it’s not an insignificant number of cases that have been helped along by Bridgmont’s intervention. Particularly for cases where Scotland Yard is too busy pussyfooting around upper crust society sensibilities. It’s mighty difficult to get warrants and wiretaps against lords and ladyships.”

“How have I never known about this?” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation.

“Because you were doing your job, I was doing mine, and Andrew would probably wipe the table with us at poker,” Merlin chuckled dryly.

“My job?” Harry laughed incredulously, “I’m starting to think I’m terrible at my job. Twenty years, for fuck’s sake. I’ve known Andrew for _twenty_ years!”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know either until Alfred retired and I took his place.”

“And, might I add, I just learned yesterday that Eggsy was discharged because he had goddamn brain tumor,” Harry muttered, “and that he still gets seizures.”

“Andrew’s a private man,” Merlin said blandly, as if that excused Harry’s ignorance.

“I even went to see Eggsy at the hospital, right before the discharge,” Harry added, guilt welling up again.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this. You never realized,” Merlin helpfully pointed out, “because you trust me to provide you the intel on any given mission.”

“That’s a given.” He had never doubted Merlin to do anything but the best by the agents he sent into the field, armed with the best weapon and intel he could provide.

“Exactly. As long as I’m doing my job right, it’s not your responsibility to question where that intel comes from. It’s a matter of liability as well. Dangerous for everyone to know who the informants are. Not even Arthur knows.” Merlin could tell Harry was still berating himself for having _missed_ so much. “You couldn’t have helped either of them, Harry. After that hospital visit, you went undercover for sixteen months, breaking up an undercover spy ring at the Pentagon. By the time you came back, Eggsy was well on his way to recovery and starting school again.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better about being a blind idiot.”

“Yes well, at least you know now, right?”

Then it occurred to Harry, “Yes, but why _are_ you telling me now?”

“I’m telling you now because Eggsy,” Merlin pulled up the young man’s military records, “is an uncommonly intelligent young man, Harry. Top 0.01 percentile on the intelligence aptitude test in the Royal Marines. Other interesting attributes as well, but this was what first caught our attention.”

“What’s your point?”

“That, just like his father, there are only so many car accident stories you can manufacture before he realizes that all is not as it seems in the life of Harry Hart. Once he becomes an informant,” Merlin held up a hand, preempting Harry’s interruption, “and he _will_ regardless of your opinions on the matter, he will most definitely put two and two together and come up with four.”

“I can’t be honest with him. That would amount to treason.”

“Aye, it would. So I’ve come up with an alternative.”

Harry huffed. It would figure that Merlin had some sort of half-baked plan already.

“You’d tell me anyway, so go ahead.”

“We approach him now,” Merlin suggested. “You know that informants work at different levels of discretion. Andrew very intentionally chose the path of knowing as little as possible – it was his compromise between keeping his family safe and following a desire to do right by his country. Eggsy clearly has patriotic intentions. People don’t leave behind a possible Oxbridge pedigree for the Royale Marines for nothing.”

Queen and fucking country, Harry thought, what a brutal combination.

“So.”

“So. He’s already got the perfect cover, as far as his job goes. His relationship with you – romantic or otherwise – would be just another layer that wouldn’t look much suspicious or out of place. It happened organically, and the truth is always the best cover.”

It didn’t sit right with Harry, and he said so, “I’m not _using_ him like that.”

Merlin shook his head, “Of course not. You’re not listening, Harry. You know as well as I that Eggsy is going to agree to help. That ball is going to get rolling eventually. I would rather Eggsy be able to do what he’s going to do with as much transparency as possible, don’t you?”

“The more he knows, he more danger we put him in.”

“You’re severely underestimating the lad.”

“He’s a civilian.”

“Which is my point. You know as well as me, Harry, why agent-civilian relationships are fucked before they even start. He can be something… in between agent and civilian.”

“You seem awfully confident as to how the chips are going to fall, Mark,” Harry said, trying and failing to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

“This plan isn’t much different from what was in place before. Believe me, the research was done long before you started making heart eyes at Eggsy. That young man has been waiting in the wings without even knowing it. Your involvement just… moved up the timeline a little bit.”

“That makes me feel even worse,” Harry said, his voice muffled by the hands he had his face buried in. He wondered what he’d done in his previous life that the universe couldn’t leave him well enough alone.

“I don’t need him to _know_ to start a relationship with him, if that’s even what he wants,” Harry argued.

“I’m thinking of down the further down the line. Planning ahead instead of charging ahead recklessly as you so often do. If we delay bringing him aboard, he’s going to feel like he’s been made a fool of.”

“You want me to be his handler.”

“Yes.”

“Merlin, do you realize what you’re saying? You call me reckless, but this is completely _mental_. You’re setting up a handler-informant relationship that’s _fucked_ from the beginning. Both of us would be going into the arrangement utterly compromised.”

“Would you rather Lancelot be his handler?”

“What’s so bloody special about Eggsy that we’re making goddamn pretzels of ourselves to bring him in?” Harry shouted.

“Because I’m trying to help you!” Merlin shouted back before he caught himself and continued, “Because I am one hundred percent sure that he’s not going to be a run of the mill informant. He’s got the wits and the will to piece things together, and if we leave him with some unsuspecting run of the mill agent, and sooner or later there’s going to be a civilian informant taking matters into his own hands if he feels like things aren’t being dealt with.”

“You’re playing with fire if you think he’s going to make this much trouble. You should just leave him alone.”

“No can do, Harry.”

“In that case, I think I’m going to need his file after all,” Harry groaned, sinking into the nearest chair. It felt like a violation of Eggsy’s privacy.

“Aye, and you’ll start to realize that he’s got a real mischievous side. Exemplary as far his tests went, but he was also the resident prankster on his base as a royal marine. He’s got a creative streak that would have gotten him kicked out of Eton but for that fact that he never seemed to get caught. Resourceful, with plenty of grit, had he stayed in the marines, he probably would have made Royal Commandos rather quickly, especially with his hand-to-hand and sharp shooting skills. His squadron leader at Shoraba called him the camp honey badger because of the chaos he left in his wake.”

It was difficult for Harry to reconcile the shy young tailor he knew with this… force of nature. “You don’t think what happened… mellowed him out a bit?”

“Would it have mellowed _you_ out any?” Merlin asked.

Point.

“Mark,” Harry said, shaking his head, “You are a manipulative son of a bitch”

“Aye, and you love me for it,” Merlin shot back but not without a rueful grin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew wants to know what (or who) put that spring into his son's step. Roxy is dying of boredom in Stockholm. Harry has a plan. Merlin is smug.
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter. Posting before I go on a long trip/drive this weekend. Also, this is totally un-betaed so feel free to point out bloopers. I try my best, but when you're reading your own words, the errors start to blur away from you. Also feel free to comment on what you might like to see. I may or may not incorporate depending on if it's workable into the fic (because I have the larger plot sort of in place but not the finer points).

It was unusual, Andrew couldn’t help but notice, for Eggsy to be quite _this_ cheerful following his checkups. There was always that palpable relief, of course, but something else was going on here. Eggsy had been a ball of nervous energy at dinner two nights ago – so much so that Margaret had asked again if the doctors really hadn’t said anything of note.

The shop floor was quiet today and Eggsy was tidying up while Andrew reviewed the orders, double checking that they were on pace for timely delivery. The lad was _humming_ to himself as he adjusted the tie display.

Enough was enough. “Eggsy, lad?” He called out, “A moment of your time please?”

The young tailor approached the long counter in the back of the shop, a dozen ties draped over his left forearm. “Yes, sir?” He looked at Andrew expectantly, eyes wide and guileless.

Andrew wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Is there… something going on?”

The scarlet flush that consumed Eggsy’s face was answer enough.

“Ah, you met someone,” Andrew observed.

“Not as such,” Eggsy hedged, careful to show a partial hand – enough to appease but no more, “more like… a development?”

Someone already acquainted then, Andrew surmised. “And you have a date coming up?”

“This is a little embarrassing to talk about, dad,” Eggsy admitted, slipping into the more familiar moniker given the nature of the conversation, “but yeah. I’m taking him to Ryan and Jamal’s pub opening.”

“I see, and how are the boys?” he asked, sparing his son for the time being. Margaret would be pleased to know that someone had finally caught Eggsy’s eye though.

“They’re not boys anymore,” Eggsy said, with the added unspoken addendum that he was also not a boy to be interrogated. “And they’re doing great. They had a soft opening last weekend, and apparently some famous restaurant critic wrote a good review on the Telegraph.”

“That’s good to hear,” Andrew said with genuine warmth.

Ryan and Jamal were rough boys from the estates who had been in the same unit as Eggsy in Afghanistan. Despite the odds, the three boys – and they had truly been _boys_ back then, none of them over twenty – hit it off right away. If the stories were to be believed, this trio had been a right terror in their camp with Eggsy leading the unlikely band of miscreants.

“It is. I was worried, you know, for both of them when Ryan came back first,” Eggsy admitted.

Ryan and Jamal had signed up together as soon as Jamal turned eighteen. Attached at the hip since their first playground encounter, they had been desperate to get out from their shitty neighborhood and even shittier fathers. They started their military careers hopeful of their futures for the first time in their lives. But six years in, Ryan lost his left leg to an IED during a routine patrol, and Jamal couldn’t come back with him in the middle of an ongoing tour.

Eggsy had browbeat Ryan into coming to live with him and set up a schedule around school and work so that he could accompany Ryan to his physical therapy sessions. When Ryan became accustomed to walking on his prosthetic leg, Eggsy helped him find a job working in the kitchen at a Nando’s two blocks from Kingsman. It was an easy enough gig given that Ryan was actually a pretty damn cook (it happened when you had siblings to feed with perpetually drunk parents) and the manager was a veteran himself.

It took another two years for Jamal to serve out his obligations with the royal marines, and Eggsy was both relieved and sad to see Ryan move out to go live with his best mate. Jamal adjusted well to civilian life, settling into a quiet routine with a job at Fox & Hounds, a gastropub in Battersea where both Eggsy and the two friends lived.

It didn’t take long before Eggsy could see that both yearned for something more. He understood the feeling all too well.

He knew that both Ryan and Jamal were deft hands in the kitchen – he went around their place often enough. He always came back with leftover laden tupperware because Ryan and Jamal knew that Eggsy could potentially burn down his kitchen while trying to boil water.

(Actually it wasn’t entirely clear to either lads if Eggsy’s severe culinary deficit was genuine, but it _had_ worked in getting Eggsy out of commissary duty when they were in the marines. It was possible that their tailor friend was just continuing with the façade, but one could never be sure with Eggsy.)

With a few comments dropped here and there, Eggsy managed to get Ryan and Jamal into thinking about possibility of running their own restaurant. His final nudge was vouchers to the Leiths School of Food and Wine in the guise of Christmas gifts and a promise that he would help as much as he could when they made up their mind.

“You ought to stop by their place, too,” Eggsy said, “they’d be happy to see you there.”

“I’m a bit old for the pub life I think,” Andrew protested, “but tell your friends I wish them the best.”

“That’s rubbish and you know it, but I’ll let them know,” Eggsy nodded as he headed back to his work. He let out a small sigh of relief. He didn’t want to outright _lie_ to his father, but the idea of Eggsy and Harry together was just unconventional enough that he wasn’t sure what the reaction would be.

-

Harry wanted to shoot himself out of this conference call. Wishful thinking alas but one could dream. The Swedish prime minister was being a right twat about his security demands for the upcoming visit with the Princess Tilde. That said, this wasn’t a video conference, so Harry didn’t feel remotely guilty about pulling up the MI6 internal communications app on his laptop and sending a group message to Roxy and Merlin. He had put his own mic on mute anyway so that he could watch the new recruits fail the obstance course in spectacular fashion.

>Lancelot has been added to the group chat<

>Merlin has been added to the group chat<

Galahad: **@Lancelot** , is the prime minister in the same room as you?

Lancelot: unfortunately. requesting immediate extraction

Merlin: v. v. rude texting during a meeting

Lancelot: its not txting. also on hr 3 of mtng. no patience left for herr prime minister ignoramus

Galahad: Extraction request denied. Permission to shoot granted.

Merlin: galahad no

Galahad: Galahad yes

Lancelot: lololol (agree w Galahad)

Merlin: whats herr ignoramus’s beef

Lancelot: thinks Swede royal guard > MI6 protection detail

Merlin: -.-

Galahad: what is -.-

Merlin: its a wtf/skeptical face

Lancelot: herr ignoramus finally agreeing to the personnel count \o/ i c the light at the end of the tunnel

Galahad: what is \o/

Merlin: its a celebration emoticon

Lancelot: **@Merlin** galahad knows what emoticons are hes just trolling u

Merlin: …

Merlin: **@Galahad** is this true?

>Galahad has left the group chat<

Lancelot: lolololol

Lancelot: gtg. mtng “adjourned” by herr ignoramus. should have this wrapped up by afternoon

>Lancelot has left the group chat<

-

Hours later, Harry and Merlin had reconvened in the review room yet again. Missing VIP photos were back up on the screen, and Chinese takeout boxes lay scattered on one of the tables, cheap wooden chopsticks impaled on the little box of rice.

“That crazy Noah’s arc theory of yours is looking more and more promising,” Merlin mumbled as he sipped at the egg drop soup straight from the little styrofoam bowl. He stared balefully at the screens like the force of his glare would bring him the answers he sought.

“Occam’s razor,” Harry said blandly, “we just need to find our proverbial Noah.” He stared longingly at the last piece of crab rangoon. His reptile brain was whispering ‘Yes, Harry’ while his frontal lobe reminded him that it would mean more laps around the track tomorrow. He _hated_ running.

“Fuck Occam’s razor. And fuck Noah. There is no ‘simple’ solution to these kidnappings.”

“That’s because you keep making it complicated,” Harry sighed. His eyes felt gritty from a combination of dry air – thank you central heating – and lack of sleep. “Let’s call it a day,” he said finally, “we’re getting nowhere. Let’s bring Lancelot into this next Monday. Fresh eyes and all that.”

He stood up and winced when his joints popped and cracked. Office work made him feel old and cranky.

“Heading home?” Merlin asked.

“After I drop off my laptop in the office,” Harry nodded, “and no, I haven’t forgotten about the Eggsy situation.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Merlin raised his hands defensively. “It’s up to you to plan his introduction. Within reason, of course.”

“I’ve already got a plan in mind. He’ll know what’s what by the end of the month.”

“So soon?”

“I went through some of his records this afternoon. It’ll be best to bring him in sooner rather than later,” Harry conceded. “Honey badger indeed. The most frequently occurring words on his evaluations were stubborn, clever, and reckless. Not necessarily in that order.”

“You don’t sound the least bit disapproving,” Merlin observed dryly. Those three words featured frequently in Harry's evaluations as well.

“He has some dangerous hobbies,” Harry added, “that I suspect his doctors would probably strongly disapprove of. Very… head-injury prone activities.”

Merlin chuckled, knowing exactly what Harry was referring to. “The parkour or the MMA gym he goes to four times a week? He's also a volunteer gymnastics coach on weekends, not sure if you saw that because it's a footnote. And I did warn you that you were underestimating him.”

“You didn’t show me CCTV footage of him wiping the floor with three men in an alleyway.”

“He saved a man’s life that night,” Merlin pointed out. “He’s a good lad. Didn’t even hesitate to intervene.”

“Impulsive. Another adjective for Eggsy Unwin.”

Merlin smiled, all mocking serenity and self-satisfaction of a man proven right.

“You’re just dying to say it, aren’t you?” Harry grumbled.

“I don’t need to say you it. You’re thinking it. The words are already in your head.”

“You smug bastard.”

“Goodnight, Harry. We’ll discuss that plan of yours 0900.”

-

from: Merlin <merlin@roundtable.org>  
to: Galahad <galahad@roundtable.org>  
date: Thur, Nov 10, 2016 at 8:44 PM  
subject: I told you so

You wanker


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Merlin iron out the details of Eggsy's initiation. Eggsy can't catch a break, but he won't let that spoil his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that I'm not British? Either way, this is not "Brit-picked" so forgive the inconsistencies. It's hardly even beta-ed. Also, I have only been to England maybe once for an interview to Oxford that I totally bombed (in a bad way) over a decade ago. All I know about London is gleaned from movies, tv shows, and the great diety that is the internet. So some stuff is real. Others, not so much. Feel free to correct me about anything (just do it nicely please).
> 
> Kudos and comments feed my soul, so keep them coming!

from: Galahad <galahad@roundtable.org>  
to: Merlin <merlin@roundtable.org>  
date: Fri, Nov 11, 2016 at 9:02 AM  
subject: RE: I told you so

Running late ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ grabbing a latte, make that two orders?

 

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the email. Or more accurately, the shrugging little emoticon mocking him with its stick figure ‘what can you do?’ gesture. That face part wasn’t even alphanumeric.

He was contemplating his method of revenge when Harry strolled in twenty minutes late with two paper cups in his hands.

“Extra shots?”

“Of course.”

It was the best olive branch Merlin was going to get for Harry letting him think that he didn’t know emoticons and text-speak for the past ten years. As for running late? Twenty minutes wasn’t actually all that bad.

“So. This plan of yours.”

“You feature heavily in it,” Harry smirked but his expression sobered quickly. “Doesn’t have to be you actually. It would be safer to have someone less…” he waved a hand over Merlin’s general countenance.

Merlin looked down at himself as to challenge Harry’s implications but nodded, “Amelia. Recently transferred from Berlin tech division. She has a good head on her shoulders.”

“You’ll still be listening in from the next room in case anything goes wrong,” Harry said.

“Of course.”

“The main consideration is that I can’t be the one to make the first contact because any invitation from me already has other connotations and expectations. It would also be too much of a coincidence for me to turn up somewhere he wasn’t expecting.”

“You seem to be taking his feeling into account quite a bit,” Merlin observed, “giving him the kid glove treatment.”

“You’re the one who took an inappropriate interest in my love life so this is the fallout,” Harry snapped. Merlin nodded to concede the point to his friend and motioned for him to continue. “Coming from me, an invitation to somewhere public would be perceived as… a date, and it would degrade trust to turn that expectation into something else. It would also sour our relationship, of any nature, to do it at my house because he’s been there already, and – perhaps this is selfish of me – I don’t want my house to be associated to this work for him.”

“And bringing him here would defeat the purpose of having a discreet CI,” Merlin agreed that the points Harry were raising were all valid and sound, “someone properly motivated would find CCTV footage of him in the vicinity at the very least. What about location?”

“It should be done, ideally, at a hotel. A local safe house if we can’t swing that. The first contact can be covered up as a house call. The main emphasis is that the first meeting is off the premises of Kingsman.”

“Explain that one.”

“It needs to be somewhere that he can leave when he wants to. We don’t want the possibility of creating a situation where it looks like he’s stormed out on a client. Or where he wants to leave but can’t. The last thing we want to do is get his hackles up by making him feel backed into a corner.”

That made sense. “Aye. Continue.”

“You or Amelia or whoever tells him what he’s being asked to do, what he’s being offered, and that he would have a handler. We’ll give him 48 hours to think about it and return to the same location. While we’re fully expecting him to agree, we have to have his agreement signed and sealed before introducing me as his handler.”

Merlin leaned back in his chair, “Tell me your reasoning.”

“The 48-hour period or the introduction?”

“The latter.”

“It wouldn’t make a difference if it were me or Lancelot or any of the other Knight-coded agents,” Harry looked at Merlin square in the eye as he said this. This was Harry Hart speaking as an agent. “This has to be motivated internally. Patriotism, the thrill of espionage, greed, a desire for world peace, whatever. It’s different from informant to informant. But he _must_ come to that decision on his own. Handlers can change, and we can’t have an informant willing to work with only one person in an organization.”

“When do you want to do this?” Merlin asked when Harry finished his explanation. “You said last night that you wanted him to know by end of November.”

“That still holds. The week of the 20th.”

“Alright. I’ll make the arrangements.”

And that was that. Merlin would handle the logistics, finding a suitable hotel under a suitable alias that had suitable reason to be booked there. The little details mattered because it was the little details that always came back to haunt them. He would have to check if any of the hotels were hosting any conferences that made for easy cover.

There was still the matter of an elder tailor though. “What about Andrew Bridgmont?”

Here Harry showed uncharacteristic hesitation. “I’m… honestly not sure. I thought to run it by you.”

“What are your reservations?”

“We can start from how it’s not best practice for CIs to know about each other. Even when they’re in such proximity.”

“Is it the fact that they’re father and son that bothers you?”

“You know as well as I that we’ve had multiple informants in one family.”

“Yes, usually in crime syndicates where everyone is ready to commit patricide, fratricide, and whatever else ‘-cide’ you can think of, where people are looking out for their own only. This is not that sort of relationship.”

This was why Harry was already hating this whole sordid business. There were reasons why there were baffles in place to prevent an agent from becoming personally compromised.

“You know I still have reservations about this, right? Eggsy will be asked to do much more than what Andrew has been doing because times are different. We’re not talking Nazis and Soviets. Our enemies of today are remote, amorphous, sometimes barely a few lines of code on a flash drive.”

“All the more reason why we need new blood to take over, Harry. You said it yourself. And you’re right,” Merlin said. “We can’t take the additional risks of our Cis being made cross aware.”

“Of course.”

“If it comes to it, I believe their relationship will endure,” he said reassuringly. “And it’s safer for the both of them. Everyone breaks, even you and I, it’s just a matter of when. Better to not know.”

“Of course,” he said again, and Harry was suddenly very glad that Merlin was his friend and quartermaster. The man could cut through the baggage and emotional web that Harry too often found himself encumbered with. Merlin made decisions – and put them on his shoulders because he could bear them better – so that Harry could continue to do his job.

-

Dr. Emma Meadows broke all conventions as far as ‘doctorly appearances’ went. She rolled up her sleeves and had no inclination toward hiding the tattoos on her forearms that surely climbed higher up her sinewy arms. She sported a mohawk, drew fierce eyebrows on fleek, and took no shit from anyone – including and up to the hospital administrator who side-eyed her unconventional style. The admin gritted his teeth, very aware that she was the best neurologist and seizure specialist in the greater London area and that St. Bart’s could not afford to lose her.

Eggsy appreciated that she was straightforward and never tried to cushion or silver line his reality.

“We’re here today to discuss those side effects you’ve mentioned,” she said, “it’s an idea we’ve been bouncing around, but we hesitated because of the fact that your seizures were first triggered by a tumor.”

“More medication?” he asked skeptically, his smile twitched a little. He had been down this road.

Temazepam. It knocked him out so hard he felt like a walking hangover.

Gabatril. He walked around like a zombie for a few weeks before tapping out.

Neurontin. Particularly disorienting at best.

Tegretol. It helped with the seizures. It tanked his blood cell count.

Trileptal. Just… no.

And at least a half a dozen more anticonvulsants.

“It’s called responsive neurostimulation, RNS for short. Think of it as a pacemaker for your brain,” she explained.

He listened intently for the next hour.

“So… the longer you have it, the more effective it is?” he asked finally.

“That seems to be what the current results are showing, but that means it also takes time to calibrate it to the settings that work for you. You might see an initial increase in seizures as we try to ease you off some medications,” she cautioned.

Eggsy nodded. His next question would decide for him. “If… if there was an impact… what could happen?”

“Impact,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose, “is there a reason that you’re asking specifically?” Emma had never known a patient who fought for his independence, his normalcy with such desperation as Eggsy, clawing for every bit he could salvage from sheer force of will. The only thing he had agreed to definitely give up was driving and that was only because he could injure other people on the road.

“If I… fell on my head or something, you know.”

She sighed, exhaling heavily and audibly. What was Eggsy getting up to that he could be falling on top of his head? “Worst case scenario?”

He nodded.

“Battery chemical exposure could lead to severe brain tissue damage.”

Eggsy’s heart sank. Rather, it plummeted. A 12,000 feet skydive without a parachute.

“I… I can’t, Dr. Meadows. I appreciate that you considered this option for me, I really do,” he said sincerely, “but, as godawful as the side effects are, I would have to give up too much. More than you know, more than I’ve been telling you.”

“I did suspect as much,” she said, smiling sadly, “will you at least tell me what shenanigans you’ve been up to so we can prepare for such foolhardy emergencies?”

-

“Do you think it’s the medication?” Margaret asked quietly.

She came to sit next to Andrew on the couch and leaned on her husband. He muted the show he’d been only half watching and wrapped his arm around Margaret. He kissed the top of her head.

“What do you mean?”

“The mood swings,” she said, “he’s been all over the place this week. You said he was cheerful yesterday.”

“It’s not the medication. I don’t know what it is exactly, but he’ll tell us when he’s ready,” he reassured her. He hoped Eggsy would tell them eventually.

They had been surprised when their son had shown up on their doorstep after dinner, JB in his arms, asking if they could stay the night. He seemed drained of even his practiced exuberance, and while he did stay over occasionally when their dinners ran late, he didn’t turn up completely unannounced.

Andrew checked in on Eggsy where he was curled up in the guest bedroom before he turned in for the night as well. He touched a stray lock of hair, careful not to wake Eggsy, and sighed, wondering when his son would be truly happy.

-

The following morning, Eggsy shook off his melancholic mood, determined that nothing had changed, and reminded himself that he had a date to look forward to tonight. He thanked his parents for letting him kip in the guest room – which Margaret reminded him was absurd especially since the room had once been Eggsy’s – and left swiftly before they could probe about the previous night.

He set out a plan of action for the day. First, walk JB. He needed to clean his apartment and do his laundry. Stop by Tesco because he knew his fridge was pretty much bare save for some yogurt. He maintained a modified version of the ketogenic diet to help keep his seizures in check. It was good for staying fit and all that, but it could be a pain in the arse to stay on top of, especially when he went out. He’d stop by the gymnasium for the kids at two and be back by five so that he could eat a little, shower, and get ready to head to Ryan and Jamal’s.

“We’ve got a lot to do today, right, JB?” he looked down at the little pooch, who looked back up at him as non-plussed as ever. “And that’s why I’m the spaz of the relationship,” he muttered darkly.

No. Stop. Not today. He wouldn’t. He would not. It was so easy, too easy, to let himself – so fuck, not today.

“Let’s go on that walk, JB,” he said with determination. He wouldn’t let anything bring him down today.

And so it went. He missed the usual joggers he saw on his morning walk because it was later than his usual time, even for a weekend. He made small talk with the Tesco cashier who looked eerily like Benedict Cumberbatch and flirted outrageously – but harmlessly – with Eggsy. He had somehow pegged, no pun intended, Eggsy as equally bent and sang praises about his RAF boyfriend.

“You got a date today, James Bond?” Ted the Tesco cashier teased.

He also insisted on calling Eggsy ‘James Bond’ because he usually stopped by after work and hadn’t had a chance to change into something more casual.

“As a matter of fact, Theodore, I do,” he said, letting himself smile more fully.

“Ooooh, do tell,” Ted said as he counted the onions, “what’s he like?”

“A bit older. A barrister.”

“A well-dressed gent like you then?”

Ding, ding, ding, give the man a double first.

“How’d you know?”

“You’re just the type those posh blokes go for. Cleans up nice, which means he can take you to fancy Michelin star restaurants that serve those French snails, but still has that little bit of rough to make it interesting in the sack.” Ted made a noise that was a cross between a purr and a sexy rawr.

“Escargot,” Eggsy supplied helpfully, burying his face in his hands out of embarrasment.

“Exactly,” Ted winked, “use the chip, not the swipe, darling. They just updated yesterday.”

As he dragged his grocery trolley behind him, Eggsy wondered if what Ted was saying was true. Was that what drew Harry to him? A polished bit of rough? He hoped not. It sounded awfully cliché and prosaic.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date is off to a good start. Merlin and Roxy are nosy.

It turned out that Harry did indeed own jeans, a nice, dark pair that fit just right. It made his legs look longer than sin. His eyes lit up when they spotted Eggsy down the street, and damn if that didn’t fan the fire smoldering in Eggsy for the older man.

As Harry approached, Eggsy cataloged what he knew.

Six feet and two inches tall. Just under twelve stones. He knew all the other measurements, too. He tried not to feel too invasive about that, but it was part of his job. Brown eyes. Warm eyes. Wouldn’t touch Italian style suits with a ten-foot pole. Travelled frequently at irregular intervals. Lost a tie to an alpaca years ago.

Eton and Oxford – Christ College, to be specific. Looked after Roxy’s poodle. Roxy’s… uncle? Liked his tea steeped too long and with a splash of milk. Made pasta – and the sauce – from scratch, so skilled in the kitchen. An amateur lepidopterist. Had his idiosyncrasies; see stuffed Mr. Pickle.

Looked good in a suit. Looked good in jeans, dark gray sweater – undoubtedly cashmere – with the white collar perfectly peeking under, and dark coat with a long scarf draped just so and supple leather gloves. Oh god, was it possible to melt into a puddle in thirty-degree Fahrenheit weather?

“You made it,” Eggsy said breathily, biting his lips to stem a too-wide smile.

“I wouldn’t miss this,” Harry said. He was even two minutes early; Merlin would weep. “Have you been here long? You didn’t have to wait outside.” He took off one of his gloves and touched his warm fingers to Eggsy’s cheek, frowning at the chilled skin.

“No fussing,” Eggsy said, glad that the wind had ruddied his cheeks already because his face suddenly felt hot and flushed. He took Harry’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“No promises, but I’ll try my best not to,” Harry said and then turned the grip so that he could draw Eggsy’s hand close and brush his lips across Eggsy’s knuckles.

Eggsy froze.

“Too much?” Harry asked.

Eggsy shook his head.

“No,” he managed to croak, “not too much.”

“If I ever make you feel uncomfortable – ”

“You wouldn’t,” Eggsy blurted. He liked to think he could be quite smooth when the occasion called for it, so why was he always so damned flustered around Harry?

“Alright, let’s head inside before the both of us freeze.”

Through the coat, Harry’s hand on the small of his back was a muted weight, but Eggsy knew how warm that hand really was. He could very easily imagine that heat against bare skin. Too easily. He needed to stop his fixation with Harry’s capable hands.

They didn’t get very far inside before Ryan and Jamal spotted them and corralled them into the corner booth, giving them a little bit of privacy. His friends wrapped him in a hug that crushed the breath out of him and thumped him solidly on the back.

“We’re so glad you came, mate! And with a sugar daddy, too!” Ryan ruffled Eggsy’s hair aggressively. It was already a lost cause from the beanie, but what were friends for anyway.

“Shove off, you one-legged gimp,” he teased back, “let me introduce you guys proper. Harry, meet Ryan and Jamal, me best mates. Ryan, Jamal, this is Harry. My _date_. So don’t fucking embarrass me, a’ight?”

Jamal shook Harry’s hand proper, a firm grip, and he looked Harry square in the eye. “You take care of Eggsy, you hear? He deserves nuffin’ but the best. He looked out for Ryan an’ me back in Afghanistan, and he looked out for us here. If you don’t do right by him, we’re gonna look out for him, you get me, guv?”

“Oh my god,” Eggsy groaned, “you can’t give a guy the shovel talk on the first date. You’re not even my parents.”

“’Course we can, and Andrew and Margaret would be glad we did,” Ryan grinned, “not that you need it.”

“No?” Harry prompted, curious to see what Eggsy’s friends had to say.

“Unofficial record holder,” Jamal looked right proud of his friend, “best fuckin’ sharpshooter in Royal Marines history.”

“Can we not – ” Eggsy tried to intervene.

“It had to have been nearly two miles.”

“Nothing was ever confirmed,” he tried again to derail his friends to no avail.

“Because they don’t keep proper track of these things,” Ryan sounded miffed that his friend never got his credit.

“We can do this later, when I’m not on a _date_ ,” Eggsy nearly gritted out. This was going downhill so fast. Harry probably didn’t want to hear about how Eggsy killed a man from 3,000 meters away.

“Alright, I gotta go help out at the bar again,” Ryan said, “it was good to finally meet you, Harry, and we’re still on for Tuesday night?” he pointed to Eggsy, who nodded.

Jamal stayed behind to take their order, grinning ear to ear. Meanwhile, Harry was mentally reviewing what Ryan had said. He hadn’t misheard the ‘finally’ – as in ‘it was good to _finally_ meet you, Harry’. Maybe his affections had been reciprocated for longer than he thought?

“You never gave us a chance to look at the menu before you accosted us,” Eggsy complained but matched Jamal’s grin. His friends had good intentions, and Harry had taken it good naturedly. He didn’t look green around the gills or disgusted or horrified as some of his previous failed date attempts had.

Eggsy called it cockblocking, but his friends called it ‘testing the mettle’ of his dates. Not that Eggsy could blame them since anyone potentially interested usually ran for the hills when they saw the tip of the iceberg that was Gary “Eggsy” Oliver Unwin Bridgmont. Then there were the sympathy daters who thought they were there to _heal_ Eggsy or something, which was even worse.

“I recommend the bacon wrapped meatloaf. Your favorite. We included it in the menu just for you.”

“It’s not my favorite,” Eggsy said, just to be contrary. Jamal’s bacon wrapped meatloaf was the favorite of the dishes they made.

“Yes, it is. And you, Harry, what’ll you have?”

“Same as Eggsy,” he said easily.

“You don’t have to, Harry,” Eggsy said earnestly.

“I’m not picky, and meatloaf is a perfectly fine dinner,” Harry reached out and squeezed Eggsy’s hand reassuringly. “Really, it’s alright.”

Eggsy narrowed his eyes at Jamal, “At least bring the beer and drinks menu.”

“Two meatloaf dinners and beer menu coming right up.”

“Your friends seem nice,” Harry said when Jamal was out of earshot, and he meant it. He had also obviously passed their test, thinly veiled though it was. If they only knew that Eggsy’s talent and frightening competency made their friend only more attractive in his eyes...

“They’re a bit much, aren’t they?”

“It’s clear that they care for you a great deal. It’s important to have friends that look out for you and safeguard your interests.”

Harry thought of Merlin and wondered if his friend was somehow keeping track of them somehow. He surreptitiously scanned the bar and spotted the two fisheye cameras on either side of the pub hall.

Or maybe not so surreptitious.

Because Eggsy was _watching_ Harry case the place with a strange look in his eyes. Was Harry losing his touch? He didn’t think so. He watched Eggsy back, and there was a moment. Harry could see the little micro-expressions flicker across the youthful face in hardly the space of a second before his expression settled into… some knowing finality.

There was a decision made there. Harry just didn’t know what it was.

Nor what it meant.

“Yes,” Eggsy agreed, “it is important.”

-

Roxy sprawled into the ridiculously large bean bag in Merlin’s man cave with a muffled ‘oof’. The game console controller clattered on the hardwood floor from her hands.

“Careful with my toys, Roxanne,” Merlin tutted, picking up the controller and plugging it back into the charger.

“One of these days, Mark, I’m going to beat you at that stupid game,” she mumbled, her cheeks pressed into the faux-suede fabric. “And steal this beanbag.” The lumpy piece of furniture could comfortably fit two grown men or three children. One felt like a giant cat napping on the thing.

“I’ve been playing that game for about ten years longer than you have. You’ll get there one day.”

“Is that why the graphics are so bad?” she giggled, “God, it’s good to be back. The prime minister was such a prick. I swear it was like he was _trying_ to make security’s job as difficult as possible. The princess was nice though. I think she had a few choice words for him, but my Swedish was a bit rusty.”

“Looked like she was quite taken with you,” he said, “budge over.”

“I think it was because I was the only other female in the conference room and kept shooting dagger eyes at her prime minister. There was so much collateral backlash from all the aggressive dick waving.”

“Lovely mental image,” Merlin grimaced as he fired up his tablet.

“Are you working? It’s Saturday night,” Roxy made grabby hands at the tablet, but Merlin swiftly moved it out of her reach.

“I’m not working,” he said, “I’m spying on Harry and Eggsy.”

“Harry and Eggsy?”

“They’re on a date,” Merlin said as he accessed the pub cameras through the security company the pub owners employed. “They just sat down. Looks like those are Eggsy’s friends.”

“Oh my god, you and Harry have the most inappropriate friendship I know,” Roxy said, but the glee was unmistakable in her voice and she tucked her chin over Merlin’s shoulder to spy on her uncle and new friend.

“Just making sure he doesn’t completely fuck anything up.”

“Look at Eggsy blush,” Roxy cooed, “you just want to hug him until he pops. I’m getting cute aggression just looking at him, and awwww, he’s getting ribbed by his friends.” Her heart melted a little at the romance; she was genuinely happy for Harry. Eggsy seemed really nice, genuinely good at heart, bursting with compassion with an easy going sense of humor. They would be good for each other.

Merlin shushed her, “Looks like his friends are leaving now, and…”

Harry’s eyes flickered up to one of the cameras; on Merlin’s screen, it looked like he was staring right at the two of them.

“Huh,” Roxy said. “You think he knows we’re watching?”

“He probably suspects me.”

“Yeah, geez, I wonder why, Mark,” she was dryly, “Oh! Zoom in, are they holding hands?!?”

Merlin winced when she squealed right in his ear. “Christ, woman, I’ll go deaf if you keep that up. I didn’t wear ear mufflers at the firing range for thirty years for you to blow out my eardrums with your banshee noises.”

“I bet they’d be so hot together,” Roxy said.

Merlin choked a little. “I’d rather not imagine.”

“What? You’ve been in Harry’s ear while he did honeypot missions, haven’t you?”

“Those are different,” Merlin listened so he could be a silent emotional crutch for Harry, who actually had no taste for those missions.

“Yes, I suppose they are,” Roxy said as she flopped on her back again to stare at the ceiling. “They look at each other like the other person hung the moon. It’s the nearest thing to love at first sight.”

“They’ve known each other a very long time, Roxy, if only in passing,” Merlin said, “and Eggsy’s father has been Harry’s tailor for twenty odd years. They’re already a little more than acquaintances and nearly friends. They’re not exactly strangers starting from scratch.”

“Maybe,” Roxy said, but she couldn’t help but feel that it was more than that. It was as if they were ready to overflow all the different gradations of love, just waiting for the other’s permission to open the floodgates.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Harry do it. (Sort of. Oh my god, I can't write smut, will someone help me? This is actually a serious request).  
> Eggsy doesn't know what he knows but he knows and he's going to let Harry know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For real, anyone want to help me write smut? I would add it to this chapter (and there would be two authors on this).

Eggsy blinked and the serious gaze was replaced by his mischievous smirk.

“I assume they were in the same unit as you?” Harry asked, both relieved and bereft when the flash of transparency passed. It was as if a membrane between them had been momentarily thinned before stitching itself back together again.

“Yeah, started training together actually,” Eggsy said, “Ryan came back a few years after I did on account of losing his leg to an IED. Jamal gave his notice and followed as soon as he could.”

“And were you as good of a marksman as they say?”

Eggsy shrugged. “It’s not how people think it is. Sometimes it’s reported, sometimes not. It’s hard to keep track when you’re busy trying not getting shot at or scanning the road for IED traces you know. I also had an excellent spotter at the time, Rufus Saville.”

“From the…”

“Yeah, from the illustrious Saville family. He was a few years ahead of me at Eton, but I didn’t know him then. His parents disowned him when he came out.”

“That sounds positively Victorian,” Harry said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of his voice.

“Shit parents, if you ask me. I think it worked out though. He’s an instructor at Sandhurst now,” he smiled, “but he was great to work with. Real smart and it was nice to commiserate about the worst professors from school while waiting in the dirt on our stomach for hours on end.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Only where it’s due,” Eggsy said.

“Well, it looks like you’re excellent at anything you set your mind to,” Harry said, sensing that Eggsy was eager to move onto another topic, “Roxy was very pleased with your work. She wears that long coat everywhere since the cold front blew in.”

Eggsy ducked his head at the compliment, “I really did enjoy outfitting Roxy. She was very easy to work with.”

“I take it that means some clients are not so easy to work with?”

“I’ve never grassed anyone up, Mr. Hart,” he said teasingly, “and I’m not about to start now.”

Harry felt a pang of guilt for what he would soon be asking Eggsy to do. It was in the name of Queen and country and all that rot, but no doubt Eggsy would feel conflicted about it.

“I understand. Let’s shelf work for now. What do you when you’re not making bespoke works of art?”

“Read, watch movies, watch shows using Ryan’s accounts, walk JB.”

“I noticed you didn’t bring him today.”

“Well, it would be difficult for him to really work his voodoo in a setting like this anyway,” he shrugged, “too much noise, a lot of interfering smells. Just too much distraction overall.”

“I think I understand. Mr. Pickles was hardly as well trained as JB, but he had no focus in public places like this. Wanted to chase every shiny thing that made a noise. He was a terror with other dogs.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy laughed, “you have to socialize them early. At least, that’s what the dog handler in our unit said. It’s tempting to keep them all to ourselves, but dogs need exposure to other dogs and animals. They’re social animals. Like humans.”

“And do you socialize?” Harry asked. Eggsy’s files had been extensive but only with things that left an official record. Even the MMA gym visits were known from when he swiped his membership card. It was sparse when it came to his social life, and Harry was genuinely curious.

“I’m socializing now,” he said with a wink, “with excellent company at that. But I swing over Ry and Jamal’s place occasionally. They like to test new recipes on me, and I get awesome food out of it, so win-win, you know? Sometimes I catch a show with some of the younger tailors on Savile Row.”

“What kind of shows?” Harry asked.

They were interrupted by the waitress bringing them their meatloaf and beer menu though neither men hardly took notice of her except to give her cordial smiles and thanks.

“You can’t laugh, alright?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Swear down? On your life?”

“Swear down. On my life. Besides, why would I laugh,” he threw Eggsy a puzzled look. “I myself have season tickets for the Royal Opera and Ballet.”

Eggsy looked pleasantly surprised, maybe a little caught off guard, before admitting, “I’ve only seen Carmen as far as opera goes, but I try to see a musical every month,” he still looked a little sheepish, “I know. Little gay boy interested in musicals, pretty cliché.”

“Nonsense, they’re amazing expressions of art and you can’t get higher production values than West End. I’ve been to many of the more famous ones. I can’t get Roxy to accompany me to the opera, but she’ll tolerate the musicals.”

“Yeah? Which ones have you seen?”

Harry jogged his memory a bit, “Let’s see… Wicked, Cats, Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast, Les Miserables, Lion King. There’s more, but I can’t think of them off the top of my head at the moment.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“If I had to choose one… Lion King?”

Eggsy beamed, “That’s aces. Me, too! It was the first one Andrew took me, too. I was twelve, and for a little bit, I almost convinced myself I would quit gymnastics to dance. I still go see it again every few years.”

“You did gymnastics?” He prompted.

“Yeah, competed right up until I join the Royal Marines. My best events were the rings and horizontal bars. It gave me a real leg up on the obstacles courses during training, so Ryan and Jamal were always trying to handicap me somehow,” he chuckled as he recalled the antics of his friends. “One time they tore just a few of the stitches on the seam of my pants so that it would split when I swung a leg over a wall. I still beat them, but the training officer had some choice words for us.”

Harry wanted to have Eggsy smiling and laughing like this always, at ease and content.

“Do you still?”

“I help out my old coach on Saturdays. Coach Fraley scares the kids because he kind of looks like Walter White with hair, so I’m mostly there as a friendly face. He’s a real nice guy though, runs a program on weekends for underprivileged youths. Gives them somewhere to be and something productive to do, you know? Raises funds with exhibition shows and camps with some of the Olympic hopefuls at his gym so we can have free lunch for the kids.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Eggsy really appreciated Ben, as he now called his former coach. He was one of the few adults in Eggsy’s youth that had made those years under Dean bearable. He used to let Eggsy come early and stay late and had his wife pack him extra food so that Eggsy would have dinner after training, knowing full well that his young student wouldn’t eat at home.

“So, what do you do when you’re not,” Eggsy scrunched up his face looking for the right word, “barrister-ing and what not?”

“Practicing law?” Harry suggested.

“Whatever, what do you do?” he asked again.

“As I said, I attend the opera and ballet if I happen to be in town. Hit the gym,” this was something of an understatement for his training regimen, “read,” also an understatement because pre-mission reports were veritable tomes of mindless, if important, boredom, “share a pint with a few of my old friends.” Those old friends were usually other knight-code agents or Merlin.

“No offense, Harry, but that sounds dead boring.”

“I’m traveling at least three to four months out of the year. International clients. It makes it difficult to maintain relationships outside of work.” He didn’t mention the recover-recuperate-retrain cycle that followed his ‘business trips’ that also left him drained and unlikely to venture out.

“Who watches your house then?”

“I have a housekeeper that makes sure my fridge and pantry don’t become a fungus farm when I leave and airs out the place before I return.”

“That sounds… lonely.”

Harry smiled ruefully at the frank observation. “I’m afraid I’ve become rather inured to it, but I think I could learn to become unaccustomed?”

It was a simple suggestion, but Eggsy’s answering grin was enough.

-

After several drinks following dinner, it seemed like the night had come to a natural stopping point or at least a juncture. Jamal and Ryan gave Eggsy some more grief and laughed in his face when he tried to pay. They gave Harry another stern warning about treating their friend right and whispered something that made Eggsy go beet red.

And so Harry and Eggsy found themselves bundled up and standing on the sidewalk.

“We – ” Eggsy mumbled.

“Eggsy – ” Harry started at the same time. They both laughed, but Harry said, “You first.”

“I was just going to suggest sharing a cab back.”

“In that case, I insist we drop you off first.”

“What? No,” Eggsy protested, “you’d be going out of your way a bit. I live near Battersea Park.”

“Eggsy,” he said, as he reached for Eggsy’s hand, “it was supposed to be a poorly concealed excuse to extend my time with you.”

“Oh. Well. In that case,” he smirked, a laugh bubbling up out of him, “we shall follow your lead.”

When Harry opened the cab door for him, Eggsy didn’t even mind the older gentleman’s modern chivalry. He rattled off his address to the cabbie and settled into the seat.

Their silence was a comfortable one, mellowed by only a very subtle buzz of alcohol, and they occasionally glanced at each other, taking in the other’s profile, lit by the street lamps and activity outside.

“Here we are,” the cabbie grunted as they rolled to a stop in front of Eggsy’s flat.

He wished it had taken longer to reach his place, that the cab had taken a longer route – they never did, of course – and that he had some excuse to make this night last.

He thought for a bit while Harry opened the cab door for him - it would be embarrassing if it weren't so endearing - and then finally said, “Oh, um, I’ve still got your scarf, do you want to grab it while you’re still here?”

Harry did that little small frown thing that Eggsy was starting to associate with a coming protestation and, sure enough, Harry said, “Nonsense, consider it a gift.”

Eggsy wanted to growl out of frustration, but instead he opted for a put-upon sigh and said, “Pity, because that was supposed to be _my_ poorly concealed excuse to extend my time with you.”

Harry blinked and then he let out a barking laugh before he drew Eggsy into the bulk of his body, kissed Eggsy’s forehead, and murmured, “My darling boy.”

The endearment sent a fierce want and possessiveness through him that Eggsy was unfamiliar with, but welcomed.

“Is that a yes?” Eggsy asked, voice muffled in Harry’s chest.

It was because Harry quickly paid the cabbie, and he let Eggsy lead the way, their hands still joined. Eggsy chatted quietly as they made their way up the stairs. It was late and the building was mostly families who were probably settled in for the night.

“I’m sorry the elevator’s broken. I think it’s the kids in the building that keep messing with it,” he apologized. “It’s a bit plain, I think the real estate company was trying to make it modern or something, but it’s home.”

“Have you lived here long?” Harry asked. The apartment wasn’t luxury, but it was clean and well-maintained.

“Since my second year at CSM. The one thing aside from hospital bills that I spent my dad’s money on. I couldn’t use it until I turned twenty-one, you know?”

Harry frowned though Eggsy couldn’t see as he looked for the right key. He didn’t have time to think further about the questions in his head though because Eggsy was pulling him into the flat.

“Don’t sit on the couch with your coat on,” he said while checking the lock, “JB doesn’t shed all that much but his white hair will stand out against dark wool.”

There was the tell-tale clatter of claws on wood as JB greeted his owner jovially. His short tail wagged like fluttering wings, and he barked once before Eggsy shushed the dog. “Quiet, JB,” Eggsy bent down the scratch his dog affectionately, “I’m sorry I left you by your lonesome, were you a good boy while papa was out?” He headed into the kitchen and pulled out a bag of some chewing hides for dogs. JB clearly recognized it because it hurried to sit expectantly.

Eggsy grinned at Harry, “I know, I spoil him rotten. But this will also keep him occupied for a while.” He gave JB a final pat before it trotted away, and he started putting away the dog treat.

Harry couldn’t help but look at Eggsy fondly. He draped his coat on the back of the bisection couch – damn the dog fur for now, Eggsy probably had a lint roller – and approached the younger man, crowding him just slightly from behind.

He slowly put his hands on low on Eggsy waist, his fingers settling on the sharp angle of Eggsy’s hipbones. Eggsy reached up and back to curl his hand at the nape of Harry’s neck, and Harry let himself nose at the junction of Eggsy’s shoulder and neck, breathing in the scent of him.

“This isn’t very gentlemanly behavior, Harry,” Eggsy murmured quietly.

“I blame you, Eggsy. I’m afraid you quite undo me,” Harry said as he pressed Eggsy into the counter. He wasn’t completely hard yet but he was getting there quickly, and Eggsy definitely couldn’t mistake his erection for anything else. “If you knew how long I’ve admired you.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy turned around and easily lifted himself so that he was sitting with Harry firmly ensconced in the ‘v’ of his eggs. “How long’s that?”

“Too long,” Harry said and let Eggsy pull him into a filthy kiss. “I feel like a lecherous old man.”

“As long as you’re lecherous for me, I don’t mind. You won’t tell me?”

“Maybe one day.”

-

Two orgasms later, Eggsy was half sprawled on top of Harry, who had one arm wound around the younger man’s waist and was absently sliding his free hand up and down Eggsy’s back. Eggsy felt lighter than he could ever remember, content and safe in Harry’s company.

Which he rightly shouldn’t.

The safe part that is. He really shouldn't because of a multitude of reasons that didn’t add up. Or rather, because of _how_ these reasons added up. On their own, the inconsistencies were for the most part innocuous; together, it was clear that Harry was someone other than what he claimed to be.

The traveling. The tell-tale pattern of callouses on his hands. The way he held himself - akin to but not quite a military bearing. His quick glances and mental calculation when he entered a room, assessing the space and the people in it. The injuries he hid admirably well. And now the scars, two clear bullet wounds, one which had peripheral scars that suggested field surgery.

Eggsy wondered if he should bring this up at all. At the very least, it was probably  _the_ worst time to do so – post coitus after only their first time in bed together? But there would never bean appropriate time to bring this up. Besides, if Eggsy’s _knowing_ was a deal-breaker of sorts, he would rather address now rather than later.

Right?

Right.

Yes, alright. He could do this.

“Harry?” Eggsy said finally.

“Yes, Eggsy?”

“I’ve known a lot of barristers.”

“Have you now?”

He nodded, and his breath tickled at the air behind Harry’s ear. “And none of them are quite like you.”

Harry’s arm tightened slightly around Eggsy, but he remained silent.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Eggsy whispered, “but you don’t have to lie to me either.”

Eggsy waited.

Harry reached over to turn off the bed side lamp. He gathered Eggsy tighter in his arms.

“Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is not a morning person. Arthur is an asshole who hold emergency Sunday meetings. Roxy is not happy with how Merlin and Harry are handling everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for lack of smut.

Eggsy was awakened by the wispy sounds of JB scratching at his bedroom door. Eggsy took him out like clockwork at six in the morning for his daily meeting with a lamp post at a nearby park and today would be no different, gorgeous not-barrister in Eggsy’s bed or not.

Harry made to get up, but Eggsy kept him in bed with murmured promises to be back soon. He found it adorable that Harry was very obviously not a morning person. Harry’s sex- and sleep-mussed hair made Eggsy want to stay in bed and run his fingers through it even more, but he made himself to get out the door so JB could take care of his business.

It was an exceptionally cold morning, and when they returned, even JB quickly hopped back into his dog bed which was positioned under the vent where the central heating blew warm air into the living room. Eggsy quickly shed his duffel coat, throwing it next to Harry’s over the back of the bisection couch and crawled back into bed.

“JB good?” Harry mumbled as he nosed at Eggsy’s hair and rubbed warm hands over his chilled skin.

“Yep.”

Eggsy snuggled into Harry’s chest and tangled their legs together. Harry hissed when Eggsy’s icy feet brushed against his calves but didn’t pull away.

“Do you have anywhere to be today?” Eggsy asked.

Much to Harry’s chagrin, he did. An email marked high priority had pinged his phone while Eggsy was out with JB. It was a summons of sorts; Gawain had returned after hitting a dead end in South America, but he wanted to give an urgent report on his findings. Whatever he had to say was evidently important enough that Arthur called a meeting at 1100 GMT on a goddamned Sunday. Agents in the area were expected at Vauxhall while everyone else would call in.

“Not for a few hours,” Harry answered.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

He couldn’t see Eggsy’s face, but he could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m not a morning person,” he admitted.

“I noticed as much,” Eggsy said, mirth in his voice.

“Do you get up at this early every morning?”

“Unfortunately. I get to the shop half past seven to make sure the shop floor is presentable and to prepare for the day’s appointments.” He shifted to fold his hands over Harry’s chest and rest his chin.

Harry made a disgusted noise at the prospect of being up at six every morning, and Eggsy laughed.

“Get another hour or two. I’ll wake you up.”

He let himself drift off and was woken by wet heat licking broad stripes up his cock. The room was still dark, but the pale orange-yellow morning light was peeking through the edges of the curtains. He lifted the covers to find Eggsy looking up at him, his mouth stretched so prettily. He pulled off with an obscene pop and smiled impishly up at Harry through his lashes.

“Good morning?”

“Get back to it, you cheeky little shit,” Harry said, smirking.

-

Merlin, Lancelot, Gawain, Percival, Bors, and, of course, Arthur were already there when he strolled in with two minutes to spare. Calling in were Gareth, Kay, Lamorak, and Bedivere. Ector, Geraint, and Tristan were deep undercover and would be briefed when his mission was completed.

Those present at the table were gawking at him, Arthur included though the pompous bastard was marginally better at concealing his surprise. Galahad _early?_ It was simply unheard of. And he was wearing _jeans._ Very nice, very designer jeans but jeans nonetheless. He ignored their disbelieving looks and took his usual seat.

“Well then,” Gawain said finally after clearing his throat, “Let’s get started.”

He dimmed the lights and brought up the first of the gruesome photographs.

“Colombia, 46 farm hands,” click, “Uruguay, 7 students camping together,” click, “Argentina, 57, an entire small village,” click, “Venezuela, 28 people in a bus. It’s like they went berserk. The Uruguay students’ autopsy showed trace amounts of a chemical yet unidentified, but with the other… incidents, nothing.”

“Any discernible reason why these people targeted?” Lancelot asked, zooming into some of the photos from her propped-up tablet and shaking her head at the senseless violence.

“At the risk of sounding callous,” Gawain said, “it’s as if whoever organized this were looking for demographics that would be overlooked. Despite the high body count, no investigations were launched on any of these. They stamped ‘cartel business’ on it and moved on.”

“And was it?” Arthur asked.

“Nothing to indicate as such, sir.”

“It’s as if they went feral,” Percival said, “but only when there are no weapons or tools available.”

“That’s right,” Gawain confirmed.

“So it’s not as if they become… less intelligent when they go berserk,” Percival continued slowly.

“No. Just more vicious. They used whatever they had at disposal and as lethally as possible.”

“Whatever is doing this,” Harry wondered, “is it making them directly violent – like fight or flight – or does it make the victims _want_ to inflict violence?”

Lancelot nodded, quickly catching on to Harry’s idea, “The results were the same, but it’s an important distinction that might point to what the mechanism is.”

It went back and forth for another half hour before a plan of action was decided. To begin with, they would scour the news for other possible “berserker incidents” around the globe. Meanwhile, Merlin’s minions would look for technology that could incite this sort of rage and assign a knight as leads came up for follow-up.

As the conference room filed out, Harry took his time gathering his tablet and coat. Sure enough, Lancelot and Merlin were waiting for him, grinning ear to ear. He made his way to the elevator and they fell into step beside him.

“I take it that the date went well? I didn’t take you for the walk-of-shame type,” Roxy teased.

“Nonsense, I showered _very_ thoroughly,” he said dryly, enjoying the way Roxy’s jaw dropped for the second time today.

“Not very gentlemanly, first date and all,” Merlin quipped.

“The both of you need to get your own romantic interests. It’s inappropriate and unhealthy to live vicariously through mine,” Harry said as he punched in the elevator button for the lower parking level. “Also, he knows.”

The elevator hummed, and the cables groaned in the shocked silence.

“You told him? Have you gone mental?” Merlin said he slapped at the emergency stop.

Everything jolted to a standstill.

Harry sighed. “I told him nothing.”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

“But he made it clear that he wasn’t buying the barrister act,” Harry added.

“And what did you say?” Roxy asked.

“I thanked him, of course.”

she guffawed at Harry’s nonchalance.

“His exact words were, ‘You don’t have to tell me, but you don’t have to lie to me either.’”

“Oh,” Merlin said as he started the elevator again, “That’s alright then.”

Roxy looked between her two mentor-slash-colleagues with disbelief and stopped the elevator again. Harry sighed long-sufferingly as the elevator jerked roughly to another stop.

“In what world is this alright?!? Have you lost your marbles?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at Harry, who sighed again and nodded.

“Why don’t we head back up,” the quartermaster suggested, “there’s actually quite a bit you need to be brought up to speed on it seems.”

-

 

Harry was starting to become sick of this room, sick of its screens and wobbly tables and shitty ergonomic chairs. Sick of that one light in the southeast corner that always flickered because the facilities and maintenance crew couldn’t be arsed to replace it.

“This is a terrible idea,” Lancelot said when Merlin finished summarizing the Eggsy situation. She had her head in her hands. “This sounds like the sort of idea that would backfire spectacularly. I can see why Harry would go along with this, no offense, but I’m disappointed in you, Mark.”

Her mouth was set into a moue of disapproval, and Harry glanced at Merlin and wondered if his friend was feeling as chastised as he was right now. By a new agent who was twenty years their junior no less.

“I also don’t understand why you can’t carry on with Andrew’s father,” she added.

“Because Mr. Bridgmont is sixty-five years old and probably retiring sometime in the next five years. Also, Eggsy is up and coming in Kingsman. He has a very different clientele from his father, even within the shop. The sort that we would be more interested in actually,” Merlin explained. “I’ve updated Rabbit’s file since we last spoke with his client list and appointment bookings. He’s also going to the Huntsman trunk shows in Asia and the Middle East, and he’s definitely going to meet a number of clients with fortunes of the dubiously acquired variety there.”

“Rabbit?” Harry and Roxy both asked.

“Eggsy’s new call name,” Merlin provided helpfully.

“Right. Because… Eggs to Easter to…” Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“Rabbit,” he and Merlin finished together.

Roxy looked between the two of them like they’d lost their minds. Which she was sure they had. She should long be used to Harry and Merlin making strange leaps of logic and associations together, but it was still weird, the way they seemed to read each other’s mind. Perhaps a side effect of knowing each other for thirty years? Definitely a case of folie a deux.

“You two…” she groaned, “alright. I assume Arthur doesn’t know about this? Because he probably would have been incandescent with fury if he knew.”

“ _If_ he knew,” Merlin interjected, “which he doesn’t because Arthur is only notified of the information that comes through CI. He definitely does not know their identities for the safety of everyone involved. Eggs - no pun intended - in one basket and all that.”

Harry and Merlin shared a completely inappropriate, given the gravity of the situation, fist bump.

“Then why are you telling me?” Roxy challenged, crossing her arms.

“Because you’ll be Galahad’s backup when he’s not available,” Merlin said. He didn’t mention that he had decided this completely spur of the moment, and Harry, who could occasionally be the spy that his reputation purported, gave nothing away. “You’re on your way to developing a good rapport with him. Between you and Galahad, our Rabbit should be able to reach someone if he needs to. It’s not common but not unheard of to have a secondary handler.”

There was a beat while Merlin and Galahad held their breath, waiting for Roxy’s response.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you both drag me into this,” she said finally, “but I’ll do it. Because Eggsy – ”

“Rabbit,” Merlin interrupted. “Need to get in the habit of calling him by the call name.”

“As you like,” Roxy snapped, “because Rabbit is genuinely a nice guy, and I don’t trust the both of you not to ask Rabbit to do something stupid.”

“I wouldn’t,” Harry said quietly.

“Harry,” Roxy replied, “you won’t be able to help yourself.”

Merlin shook off the guilt that tried to settle on his shoulders and quickly moved the conversation onward with determination. They had a lot to cover after all.

“Next on the agenda, we need a fresh set of eyes on the missing VIP case."

"The one that Arthur told you to leave alone because MI5 was handling it?"

"Never explicitly," Merlin smiled that sharp smile he used to terrify new recruits with, "we have fifty-something confirmed missing persons, a disproportionate fourteen of which are British subjects including an earl and his family, Sir Elton John, and most recently – as in yesterday evening – Stephen Hawking.”

Merlin put up a recently taken photograph of the physicist.

“He was taken from his London home along with his nurse, so we assume that his captors mean to keep him alive and in relatively good health,” he brought up a photograph of the nurse, a serious looking woman in her early thirties.

“Elton John?” Roxy mouthed, looking as confused as Merlin still felt.

“He’s an artist,” Harry supplied, “We think that the people that are being kidnapped fall into one of four broad categories: politicians and world leaders, business owners and other wealthy types, artists and celebrities, and scientists and scholars.”

“The earl was wealthy?” She asked.

“Yes, but it’s puzzling because there are other nobility who are worth more in assets and closer in line to the throne than the Earl of Essex.”

“And who holds the title now?” Roxy asked.

“Daniel George Keppel the third,” Merlin said, “married to Elizabeth Cooper and has one daughter named – ”

“Brooke Keppel,” Roxy finished. “I don’t think the earl was kidnapped for his money. Brooke Keppel is MacArthur Genius Fellow.”

“But she’s British.”

“She was born in the States so she holds dual citizenship. She’s a darling of environmental activism,” she explained and deftly plucked Merlin’s tablet from his hands to take control of the screens. “Recently made UN Goodwill ambassador and went to Brown with that actress that played Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter movies. She definitely runs in the A-list celebrity circle.”

Roxy pulled up various photographs of the Keppel daughter at her many public functions. She was a pretty young brunette with soft facial features, nicely arched brows with almond eyes that tilted up at the corners. Her freckles added an innocent, youthful exuberance.

“There were even rumors that she was seeing Prince Harry for a while. I would think that she’s a more… interesting target than her father,” Roxy said with finality.

Merlin and Harry looked at each other. There was a very good reason Roxanne Morton was the youngest Round Table agent in history.

“Any theories on the kidnappings, Lancelot?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy have their last date before the plan kicks off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments (I am getting around to replying to these - been out of town/commission thanks to running a race that nearly ended me. I didn't know your entire body could hurt this much XD)! The plot is about to move along from just Hartwin fluff and I'm so excited!

Eggsy spent the rest of his Sunday alternating between bliss and contemplation. He tried to distract himself with his battered copy of Brothers Karamazov in original Russian, a gift from his mum when he went away to boot-camp.

(It had been something of a joke because he had had to read it for English class and had absolutely _hated_ it. It also happened to be his mother’s favorite Dostoevsky epic – and epic it was, especially in word count even by Russian standards. She had assured him that he would enjoy it much more in the original language. He came to bear a grudging respect for the monstrosity, and it – along with a Russian-English dictionary – followed him to Afghanistan and back.)

He chose a random page, landing at Father Zosima’s death, and made a valiant attempt at reading, but while his eyes tracked the words and letters, he realized that nothing was being processed and gave it up for a lost cause.

The book landed on the coffee table with a muffled thump, and he fell back onto the couch. JB took the opportunity to hop up on the furniture and pressed himself to Eggsy’s side, and Eggsy smiled as he thought of what Harry might be up to right now. Was he still at work? He had had a disgruntled look in the morning when he said he had someplace to be.

What was Harry, Eggsy wondered, not for the first time.

A good man. That much Eggsy was very sure of. His instincts had rarely led him astray when it came to a person’s character.

Lonely. But he carried his solitude like a cross. By necessity rather than preference.

Confident. At ease in his own skin. He could carve a path through a packed crowd by sheer presence alone.

A gentleman. At least… when it suited him, Eggsy thought with an almost giddy smile. Harry would have certainly scandalized his peerage with the way he had fingered and licked into Eggsy with gusto last night.

“What d’you reckon, JB?” he asked, “Do you fancy Mr. Hart, too?”

JB whined at him in confusion but wagged his tail regardless.

“That’s about how I feel, bruv.”

Eggsy wished he had someone to talk to about this. Ryan and Jamal were great mates, the best anyone could ask for, but they weren’t terribly helpful in these sorts of matters. His parents… mum would probably ask if it was wise to see such an important and long-time client before accepting it as easily as she had accepted Eggsy’s orientation. Andrew, well, dad might not be so keen.

He had always sensed his father’s wariness around Harry. Before yesterday, the reason for it – vague though it may be – had been a mystery given that it was also clear he held Harry in high regard. Eggsy wondered if his father was simply disturbed by Harry’s obfuscation about his identity or if he had come to more certain conclusions about his client. Either way, Andrew was surely wiser than Eggsy, who found the danger lurking under Harry’s polished and refined veneer more than a little enticing.

Moth, meet flame, Eggsy mused.

He briefly wondered if he might be able to inherit Harry’s Kingsman account when his father retired. Probably not. Eggsy was Kingsman’s youngest tailor – the low man on the totem pole so to speak. A more experienced tailor would have the privilege of making Harry’s suits. Now that he had allowed himself to consider the possibility, the thought disheartened him more than he had imagined it would.

He was really getting ahead of himself though. It was inappropriate to have these… possessive urges for a man who had shared his bed for only one night.

-

El Caballero Mudo was a small Iberian restaurant near the Northwest corner of Hyde Park. The décor was homely and simple with exposed brick walls and bulbs strung up on lines that crisscrossed the ceiling. The wooden tables and chairs were mismatched but charmingly so, and Spanish guitar music played unobtrusively in the background. The food was simple but always phenomenal.

Aitor Ibarra Mota and Clara Ferrer Losa had opened the restaurant late in the eighties shortly after they married, and it had withstood the test of time, a stalwart as the neighborhood transformed around them.

Harry first came across the little bistro early in his MI6 career while following a mark, and he made it a point to come back at least a few times a year. After a mission that led him on a merry chase through Portugal, Spain, France, and then back to Spain again, he came back with an entire leg of premium jamón – which had been a _bitch_ to get through customs – for Aitor and a set of azulejo plates for Clara, and they had since treated him like an old friend. They were even more delighted when they realized that he spoke near fluent Spanish.

He had hesitated before deciding on Caballero as the venue for his second date, but Roxy had convinced him that Eggsy probably wasn’t the sort to be very impressed with upper-class peacocking, particularly given that his profession essentially gave him the backstage sneak peek. It would be better, she said, to bring Eggsy here where the young tailor would have the opportunity to see Harry interact with normal people like a normal human being. Roxy’s tone had heavily suggested that Harry was anything _but_ normal.

So Harry had shored up his courage and called Eggsy Sunday night because it would be terribly rude and gentlemanly to wait much longer than that. Eggsy had sounded almost relieved to hear his voice and readily agreed to a second date.

It was a novel experience to be with someone who wore his heart on his sleeve like Eggsy. Harry had grown up around weak-chinned twats who wielded propriety like a foil and strutted around wearing stoic expressions like armor. Being transparent in one’s sentiments was simply not done. Then he had graduated to a career in espionage where transparency was essentially a death sentence. Eggsy’s openness and his expressive eyes, they were almost overwhelming to be in the presence of.

Harry wondered if his own countenance was too cold for someone like Eggsy, who seemed to crave affection like air. And he wondered, too, if it had been the right decision to move the plan along so quickly. Amelia would be making first contact with Eggsy in three days’ time, and in less than a week, Eggsy would find out that Harry would be his primary MI6 contact. Harry could only hope that this fledgling, tenuous connection between them would still be robust enough to survive beyond that.

“Estás bien, Harry?” Clara asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. She set down a cup of water, a lemon wedged along the rim.

“Perfect. Just thinking.”

“Alright, if you say so. The usual?”

“Actually… I’ll wait. I have a guest coming today,” he said, “he should be arriving any moment.”

Her eyes widened. “A guest?”

“Eggsy, a delightful young man. My niece’s tailor actually.”

“But not only that,” she said sagely.

“No, much more,” he admitted.

“Ah, and he must have _very_ nimble hands if he’s a tailor,” she said and winked. Clara might have been in her sixties, but she still had the vitality and spirit of a young woman. She bustled back into the kitchen and left Harry to his own devices while he waited for Eggsy.

The sounds from the streets outside suddenly filled the restaurant, rising over the background murmur of patrons in conversation and accompanied by the tinkle of the bells tied to the door. When Harry looked over to the restaurant entrance, it was only years of practiced composure that kept Harry’s jaws from hitting the floor.

Eggsy was dressed in an impeccably tailored gray suit, complete with a waist coat and black tie. He was holding his coat over one arm and carefully tugging off his gloves. His eyes searched the venue until they landed on Harry. Then he smiled, open, joyful, and unguarded, and Harry’s heart seized a little at the sight.

“I’m a little overdressed,” Eggsy said apologetically as he sat down, looking up at Harry who had stood to help him into his chair. Chivalry was not dead, thank you very much.

“You look perfect,” he replied immediately, perhaps a little too quickly.

They blinked at each other for a moment before breaking out into quiet laughter at the same time.

“Thank you,” Eggsy said, “but I do have a very good reason for it.”

“You mean this wasn’t for my benefit?” Harry teased. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t interrupt. Please continue.”

“No, not at all. It’s not a long story anyway. I was ‘volunteered’ for a photoshoot for the Savile Row Bespoke Association – some campaign to get millennials interested in tailoring. They wanted some of the tailors and apprentices wearing suits and such they made themselves. Campbell sent me and Pasha as the Kingsman reps.”

“And I’m very glad for it. Did you really make your suit yourself?”

Eggsy nodded, “Made this one, oh, five years ago for a friend’s wedding.”

“And it still fits marvelously.”

“Bespoke suits are definitely a motivation to stay fit,” Eggsy replied, smirking mischievously.

Harry was saved from coming up with a witty comeback because Clara descended on them with her unstoppable exuberance.

“You must be Eggsy,” she said, “Harry’s young man.”

Harry choked a little at the designation and glanced at Eggsy, who looked a little wide-eyed himself

“We’ve met Harry’s friends, but this is the first time he has ever brought a date!” Clara said, to Harry’s mortification. “You must be very special,” she declared with a firm nod.

“Um…” Eggsy said, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Aitor is doing his Pais Vasco special tonight,” she carried on, “Marmitako and morcilla. You couldn’t find better in Bilbao.”

Harry and Eggsy both opted for the special, which made Clara smile even brighter as she promised them they wouldn’t regret it. Aitor himself served the dishes along with wine on the house, and he, too, commented on what a delightful surprise it was for Harry to bring a date and that it was high time for Harry to find a Clara of his own.

Once he overcame the initial surprise, Eggsy looked mildly bemused the entire dinner, and when Clara came out with flan for dessert, he smiled genially as she extracted a promise from Eggsy that he take good care of Harry because he was a dear friend of hers and Aitor’s.

Once they were outside, holding a bag of too much takeaway that Clara had wrapped up for them, Eggsy looked at Harry with a fond smile. It was enough to spur Harry into action and he pulled Eggsy into his arms, burying his nose into the younger man’s hair, which smelled faintly of… coconut?

“Your hair smells good,” he said.

Eggsy’s shoulders shook with laughter as he looked up at Harry, “The stuff I use, yeah.”

“Come back to mine?”

“Yes, Harry.”

Their encounter this time was marked with sure hands, with confident touches and firm grips. Harry promised Eggsy a proper tour of his house later as he ushered him upstairs to the bedroom. He made quick work of Eggsy’s clothes and his own with a single-minded efficiency. When he prepared Eggsy, his fingers were both gentle and deliberate, and Eggsy let himself be pushed and pulled to Harry’s pleasure until he came with a whimper muffled against the pillow while Harry chased his own orgasm with a stuttered grunt. Then he took Eggsy apart all over again with his hands and mouth alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase one of operation Rabbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I beta myself. Which is to say... this fic is probably riddled with stupid mistakes. Feel free to point them out. I'll only be grateful.  
> Also. Ermahgerd, plot progression.
> 
> Pasha is a more... affectionate version of Pavel.  
> Zaichik is a pet name (it's Russian). It means bunny. But maybe not in the context that you think?

Eggsy checked his watch – just in time – and the hotel room number before knocking. A brief silence, some shuffling sounds of movement, and a young woman opened the door.

“You must be Mr. Bridgmont from Kingsman. Please come in,” she opened the door wide open and stepped aside, motioning him inside.

The room was a nice suite with nice, large windows that overlooked Knightsbridge. There was even a fireplace though it looked only ornamental, and the furniture and decoration were simple but clearly upscale.

“Please, take a seat. I’ll be with you shortly,” the young woman directed him.

He sat in one of the white couches that faced each other across the coffee table and opened his case, pulling out the books of swatches and designs he carried for house calls.

She returned, closing the door to the bedroom behind her, and sat down across from him. She held a large brown envelope in her hands, one of those old-fashioned ones that had two circles tied together with a string.

“Miss…” he started, realizing that she had yet to introduce herself. Wariness prickled at him. That split second feeling just before an ambush broke out, just after your mind recognized a threat but before your body reacted, waiting for the signal to spark across all the synapses.

“Amelia, but that’s not important,” she said, “Mr. Bridgmont, we’re very glad you could make it today.”

Who the fuck was 'we'? Eggsy’s eyes flickered briefly to the door he had just come through.

The hair on the back of his neck was standing up, and ice slithered down his spine. He should have known from the moment that Amelia – if that was even her name – had opened the door that something was not right. He was supposed to be meeting Arnold Goethe, a German businessman in town for a conference. He had assumed that Amelia was the wife or secretary or something, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Amelia said as she opened the envelope and pulled out what looked like stacks of… photographs. He wasn’t entirely sure, but the material was that of matte photo paper. “If you could put away your items back in your case, please?”

He did so, slowly, keeping an eye on her and forced himself to keep breathing slowly. Keep his heart rate low, just like he was getting ready to fire away a shot. How many seconds would it take to get to the door? He could swing the case, it was really the only weapon he had on hand. That and the fountain tucked inside his suit jacket. He could feel the rigid line of it against his heart.

“I’m afraid we’ve asked you here under… less than honest pretenses, but we truly mean no harm. We do have to ask you that everything that happens today remain under strictest confidence,” she said. She was still smiling, and that bothered him. _Unsettled_ him.

“Alright. Who would ‘we’ be?” he asked, relieved that his professional, polite mannerism was holding and that his voice didn’t waver.

She ignored his question in lieu of setting out the photographs on the table. Some were portrait shots, others clearly taken from a distance, a few were grainy shots from elevated angles. Like a CCTV footage he realized.

“Do you recognize any of these people?” she asked when the twelve photographs had been carefully arranged.

He shook his head. It would take, three seconds, four maybe, to reach the door.

“Don’t worry. We didn’t expect you to. This woman,” she said, pointing to a middle-aged blonde woman, “owned the largest collection of Rembrandt in Europe. She’s currently incarcerated in Austria.”

She waited, clearly waiting for Eggsy to ask, but he wasn’t about to give her that satisfaction.

“Alexandra Lefebvre was also funding a terrorist group out of Ukraine, a group whose leader,” she pointed to the picture next to the blonde woman’s, “was kidnapping young men and women into human trafficking rings throughout the continent.”

Eggsy swallowed. His mouth felt strangely empty and dry. He could make a run for the door, but then the door to the bedroom was there. And he didn’t know who was behind that wall. Probably not a German businessman looking to get fitted for a suit.

“These four,” she motioned at the four photos in the middle row, “were planning to detonate a dirty bomb in central London. Two of them are incarcerated in Wakefield. The other two have been expatriated to France where they are serving out a life sentence.”

When nothing was forthcoming from him, Amelia continued.

“This gentleman – ”

“What does this have to do with me?” he gritted out.

“These people? Nothing. We only wanted to show you what you could offer us,” Amelia said. “Everyone you see here were apprehended with the help of civilians like yourself.”

“I’m not… involved in anything,” he said. Then, because apparently, he had no sense of self-preservation, he added, “and even if I were, I wouldn’t tell you anything.”

“We know you’re not,” she said, and her smile was a bit less sharp this time, “and… I’m actually very glad to hear you say that. Loyalty is a most valued trait for us.”

“I’m not loyal to you. I don’t even know you.”

“No, but you could be.”

He sighed, “Alright, let’s have it then. What do you want?”

“In very simple terms, we want your access.”

“Lady, I’m just a tailor,” he said, gesturing at his sample case.

“No one’s ever _just_ anything,” Amelia cocked her head a bit, “and that applies even more to you. Former royal marines. Exceptional service record. Truly extraordinary test results. Your medical condition notwithstanding, you could still… fend for yourself, no?”

“Like I said, I’d prefer a straight answer than you trying to butter me up for whatever you want.”

“And excellent instincts,” she added, smirking a little bit, “we would like to employ your services as a confidential informant for the Secret Intelligence Service.”

“My services,” he narrowed his eyes, “not sure what I’ve got that would interest you spooks at Vauxhall.”

“As I said before: access. That’s usually the first step to any operation. When you were in the royal marines, you eliminated high-value target on several classified missions. Missions, as you know, that would never have been possible if not for key pieces of information that told you when and where to find your targets.”

He acknowledged nothing. Not even a blink. Nor a twitch of his nose. His breath didn’t hitch, and his heart kept beating, steady as you please.

“Where did you think that information came from, Mr. Bridgmont?” she continued, “Not out of thin air, I can assure you. Do you understand?”

“You want me to inform on my clients at Kingsman.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“If its moral qualms you’re hung up on, I assure you that we generally have very good reason to want for information on them.”

“I see my clients maybe three times a year, if that, and it’s not as if I take afternoon tea with the people I make suits for. They usually see right through plebs like me.”

“All the better,” she said dryly. “Also, we do live in the twenty-first century. We’re not limited to hearing range and line of sight for surveillance anymore.”

He was… intrigued. Definitely. He couldn’t deny that. But nothing was ever that simple, of course. He had more than himself to think about.

“I have a family,” he said, “my parents.”

“You will be assigned a call name if you accept our offer, and only four very trusted individuals, myself included, will know your identity,” she assured him.

“And if someone finds out about me? Kidnaps me or something, what happens then?”

“It depends on how difficult it would be to extract you and how important the information you have up here,” she tapped her forehead, “happens to be. We do our best to ensure the safety of our informants, but we can’t one hundred percent guarantee your safety. If it eases your mind, it’s a highly uncommon occurrence for informants to get caught up in physical danger.”

 _Physical_ danger. These spooks sure had a strange way about them, didn’t they?

“Do I have to decide now?”

“Of course not. That would be unwise and hasty. You have a little over two days to think it over,” Amelia stood, and Eggsy stood with her, clutching his case tightly. “Meet us here, Wednesday at nineteen hundred, should you decide to join us.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then nothing. We go our separate ways. We aren’t looking to coerce you, Mr. Bridgmont,” she said, and it sounded sincere. “Any other questions?”

“Not right now.”

“In that case, you’re free to go, as you have been from the beginning.”

He looked at her skeptically as she crossed the room to hold open the door to the quiet hallway. He kept his eyes on her until he crossed the threshold of the doorway.

“Thank you for your time, Eggsy, we do hope you’ll be back. And remember, everything is confidential,” she said as she closed the door.

It wasn’t until he reached the hotel lobby that he realized what she had called him.

-

He went back to the shop. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but JB was there and he still had two hours left on his shift. He had also agreed to help Pavel with the holiday set up on the shop floor after they closed.

“Penny for your thought?” Pasha said while he held the torso mannequin that Eggsy was tying a tie onto. “You’ve been very quiet.”

“Nothing. Just… stuff on my mind,” he said, trying to send a reassuring smile

“Zaichik,” Pasha tutted, “I know you better. What’s wrong? You had a house call today, right?”

“What?”

“Did something happen with the client? Was he inappropriate towards you? You can tell me.”

Eggsy’s eyes widened, “No! No, it’s just… personal stuff.”

Alright, so, Pavel was justified in worrying about Eggsy. He had been two years ahead of Eggsy at CSM, and he had immediately taken Eggsy under his wing. He delighted in the fact that Eggsy spoke Russian as well and had helped Eggsy adjust to a life that wasn’t lived in the military or a hospital.

When Pavel graduated, he was hired almost immediately by Huntsman for his skills and his linguistic advantage – there were a lot of new money Russians looking for the Savile Row experience both at home and abroad – and they had kept in close touch, helped along by the fact that Margaret regularly invited him over for home-cooked Russian meals.

He was also the only person that Eggsy had told about a client who had tried to get overly handsy. It was years ago. He’d been a third-year apprentice with Gieves, and his then-mentor had taken suddenly ill (it turned out to be a ruptured appendix). Eggsy had been sent alone on the house call despite being only an apprentice, and when Eggsy balked at the client’s advances, the man had unexpectedly back-handed him hard enough that Eggsy stumbled. Instinct took over and Eggsy whacked the client with a large coffee table book before running out of the house.

But he had left everything. His case, his coat, his umbrella. His portfolio.

He panicked. He’d surely lost the client. What if his manager didn’t believe him? What would Andrew say? He called Pavel, who had listened quietly, increasingly furious and indignant on Eggsy’s behalf. He picked up Eggsy and took him back to his own flat. He thrust a large mug of tea at him and called Eggsy’s manager and father while Eggsy sat, a little dazed, telling them that Eggsy had had a bad episode and would be heading home for rest.

After that, Pavel called his boyfriend who was six feet four with eighteen stones of solid muscle – personal trainer by day and bouncer by night – and together they went to collect everything Eggsy had left behind at the client’s house. Whatever words were exchanged, Eggsy didn’t know, but it clearly worked because his manager only looked at Eggsy with concern the next day, asking if he felt better and to take it easy for the day.

So it wasn’t without precedent that Pasha looked at him with concern.

“I just need time to sort it out,” Eggsy assured him.

His friend looked uncertain but, to Eggsy’s relief, let the matter rest.

Eggsy didn’t need time though.

He already knew his answer.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is furious. Harry... isn't. Eggsy needs some rest.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Merlin loomed over Amelia, his finger inches from her face, “What about ‘soft approach’ did you not understand? He’s not a fucking recruit, so tell me, what the _fuck_ was going through your head?”

His eyes had hardened to two gleaming flints, and they bore into her relentlessly.

“That _was_ a soft approach. As soft as anyone gets. Gary Bridgmont doesn’t need it anyway,” she said, refusing to back down. “He’s an ex-marine.”

“Precisely. _Ex_. Which means he’s a civilian now. A fucking _tailor_ on Savile Row, not some white-collar criminal for you to throw vague threats at.”

“I never threatened him, and just because he’s a civilian doesn’t mean he needs kid gloves, Merlin.” she gritted out, “I’ve handled dozens of agents through hundreds of missions. I can plot an adrenaline junkie from a mile away. Trust me, Gary Bridgmont doesn’t need any coddling.”

“ _Trust_ you?” Merlin looked a little incredulous, “Bierhaus, you went against a direct order.”

“Because it was a shite order,” she countered vehemently, standing taller than her petite, five feet frame.

“We’re bringing him in as a CI, not a bloody agent. You seem to have forgotten that crucial distinction,” he ran a hand over the smooth curve of his head, “Fuck! And calling him by his nickname was unnecessary.”

“Please,” she scoffed, “it’s not exactly a secret.”

“He could have taken it as evidence of a violation of privacy.”

“As well he should,” she said, “he _should_ be aware that we’re watching.”

“Fear isn’t the best foundation for loyalty.” Or obedience, Merlin thought.

“It’s as good a start as any. It would be disingenuous to make this look any less risky than it is.”

“You made that very clear with your ‘cannae guarantee yer safety’ bullshit,” Merlin fumed, his brogue breaking through in the face of his fury, “Donnae pretend any of that was for his benefit. You were irresponsible. End of discussion. Jesus Christ, fucking _baiting_ him for reactions.”

“And he _handled_ it just fine. When I mentioned his classified missions, he gave away _nothing_. I bet you if we had him on a polygraph, we wouldn’t even get a blip _._ I’m doing my _job_ , Merlin,” she jabbed a finger hard into Merlin’s sternum, “we can’t afford to bring on someone who’s going to crack and spill at the first sign of stress. We’re not running clean-up because you brought in a CI who goes the way of Humpty Dumpty at the slightest provocation.”

“We already know he can handle stress.”

“A hypothesis from his records. He went through R2I when he was in his teens. That’s not good enough for me. And it shouldn’t be good enough for you,” she narrowed her eyes, “I had to press, just a little, because for some fucking reason I’m not privy to, you want him wrapped in cotton. That’s not like you.”

Too bloody sharp for her own good, Amelia was. Then again, this was why she was one of their best.

“I’m not going to ask, Merlin. I don’t want to know what harebrained scheme you’ve got going on, but whatever it is, tread carefully.”

She thrust the envelope of photographs into his chest and slammed the door on her way out.

-

To Merlin’s surprise, Harry was remarkably sanguine about Eggsy’s chances at returning and how Amelia had handled the introduction. If anything, he looked a little bit pleased as he watched the video of the interaction between Amelia and Eggsy.

It cemented two things for Harry; while Eggsy didn’t _need_ a soft touch, he was the type to respond much more favorably to positive reinforcement.

“He’ll be back,” Harry said, steepling his hands together, “and don’t worry about Amelia.”

“She directly went against my order,” Merlin groused.

“Yes, and you can make her handle the most boring missions for the next month as punishment. She was safeguarding MI6’s interests.”

“ _I_ safeguard MI6 just fine.”

Harry shrugged, “Amelia was never overly threatening. She just phrased and placed her words in such a way to agitate Eggsy.”

“And he _was._ Agitated, that is,” Merlin found himself saying. He wondered how he was more bothered than Harry by how the initial meeting had gone. Truth be told, Merlin had been tempted, watching and listening from the adjacent bedroom, to run intervention. His instinct had been all sorts of crossed, one part of him telling him to stay put while the other bristled at Amelia’s tone.

“It hardly showed,” Harry said. He had been pleasantly surprised at how little Eggsy’s expression and body language betrayed when faced with Amelia’s probing. Eggsy could compartmentalize to some degree when the occasion called for it even if it wasn’t in his nature to do so.

“He was winding himself up, for fight or flight. Maybe both. He was calculating and evaluating the entire time, improvised weapons, exits.”

“But he never froze. He kept his calm.”

“His sniper training. He was breathing like he was getting ready to take a shot.”

“You know what they say. You can take a man out of the army, but you can’t take the solider out of the man,” Harry mused.

“It’s a shame. He’d have made a fine asset,” Merlin said, giving voice to a thought he had had many times over since the first time Eggsy’s file had crossed his desk.

It was, Harry agreed silently, but a small selfish corner of his heart was glad for it. He wasn’t sure how he would ever sleep if Eggsy was in the same line of work as him. He would likely worry himself into an early grave.

“I’d wager you’d have lost your hair even faster,” Harry said, finally.

Merlin barked out a short laugh, “Aye, you’re probably right about that.”

-

After two sleepless nights, Eggsy was both anticipating and dreading the close of the workday. Pavel kept shooting him worried glances, Andrew had picked up on Pavel’s concern, and Eggsy was losing a futile battle against a creeping headache from sleep deprivation while trying to keep up an appearance of normalcy. He’d even resorted to using a concealer - a trick he had learned from a model he had briefly worked with while at CSM - to hide the dark circles under his eyes this morning.

But goddamn, this headache. It was the sort that started from the base of the skull and spread up the scalp and wrapped around to make the hollow around one eye ache and throb painfully. Eggsy didn’t like headaches. Aside from the usual reasons, it left him more susceptible to seizures, an unpleasant harbinger of sorts. It was shit timing is what it was.

He had some Imitrex, but he hesitated. Combined with the drug cocktail he already took, it made him tired and drowsy, and today of all days, he needed to be alert. Four more hours. Just four more hours.

Apparently, the universe had other plans for him.

When JB started to whine, Eggsy cursed and put down the shears he’d been using. It clattered off the table, but he was too busy half-stumbling to the break room, ignoring the alarmed voices that followed him. He hurriedly pulled down the blinds to the single window in the back and carefully positioned himself on his side on the small cot they allowed him to keep here for just this purpose. He couldn’t suppress the groan from nausea and the pounding in his head that came from getting into a horizontal position.

If he had had his eyes open, the opposite wall would have warped before him. He tasted, or smelled, smoke, something sooty, burnt rubber. Fear and unprovoked anxiety gripped him, suddenly everything felt unfamiliar, and then darkness descended.

Awareness was accompanied by bone-deep exhaustion. His jaw felt achy like he’d been chewing gum for hours. For a moment, his mind tripped and he felt submerged, underwater, vision blurry and sounds deformed before the distortion cleared.

“How long,” he croaked when he recognized his father’s worried expression. He could also see Pavel hovering anxiously behind Andrew.

“We’re not sure,” he said, his face carefully stroking Eggsy’s sweat-damp hair now that he was certain that the seizure had passed, “at least five minutes. We were about to call an ambulance.”

“Don’t,” Eggsy tried to shake his head and stopped when nausea and pain welled up again. He had somewhere to be in a few hours, Jesus Christ, once he could get up without wanting to lose his meager lunch. He couldn’t afford to be stuck in a hospital, running through tests and CT scans that would tell him nothing new.

Five minutes though. That was… long. He hadn’t had one this bad for years.

“Will you let Pavel drive you home," Andrew asked, "when you feel up to moving again?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “yeah, alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R2I = Resistance to Interrogation (basically counter-interrogation training)  
> Seizures are often preceded by 'auras' which can manifest in a variety of ways.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting starts. (And Eggsy makes a new friend - and half)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos! You guys feed my soul and my muse!
> 
> Please don't bash my terrible lack of brit-picking. I speak American language with the vocabulary of the American South and New England. 
> 
> The Knowledge is, well, it's a bit unclear but I think it basically boils down to all the routes and streets that the black cab drivers in the UK have to know and pass exams for to get their license. Yes, they basically have to carry the map of London and its many monuments in their heads. I can't get to the nearest Walmart without Google Maps, so this is mind-boggling to me.
> 
> Also, I did do my best to research the sorts of medications that someone suffering from epilepsy might be taking, both regularly and on an emergency basis, but if I got it wrong... please know I tried.

It took another half hour before he felt steady enough to move. He let Pavel pack him and JB into a cab while his father watched with worry etched into the furrows of his brows and the tight line of his mouth.

“Andrew, I’ll be fine,” he said as reassuringly as he could, “I’ve been pretty lucky to go six months without an episode, so it was a long time coming.”

“You were doing so well, so of course I’m worried.”

“I’ll be fine. Also, I don’t think I made much progress with Mr. Fainsworth’s trousers, could you ask Elaine to finish cutting? The pattern is already done.”

“Trousers are the least of your worries right now.”

“Dad – ”

“Yes, of course, I’ll let Elaine know,” his father sighed, “I’ll see about getting you an appointment with Dr. Meadows as soon as she had the time.”

“That’s really not – ”

“Please,” Andrew said as he squeezed Eggsy’s gloved hand, “it would ease mine and your mother’s mind to be sure. Today was worse than I’ve seen you in a long time, Eggsy.”

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed finally, shoulders slumping, “don’t let mum worry too much, alright? I’ll come by for dinner on Friday so she can see for herself.”

Andrew closed the cab door as he stepped away, nodding to Pavel who got in from the other side. He firmly instructed the cabbie to drive carefully, and Eggsy would have rolled his eyes if not for the dull throbbing still lingering at the base of his skull.

“You should’ve said if you weren’t feeling well,” Pavel said gently as the cab pulled away.

Eggsy hummed in agreement – he could admit that he’d been irresponsible this time – and buried his hand into JB’s coat. Even through the leather, he could feel the dog’s warmth.

“You’ve been out of sorts lately, not just Monday,” his friend continued.

“Please, Pasha. It’s nothing that won’t get sorted out with time,” Eggsy said quietly. He had about three hours to make it to the hotel. Well, more like two and a half if he took into account the half hour transit time.

“So there _is_ something,” Pavel said, “and it’s not just whatever happened Monday?”

Eggsy said nothing instead opting to close his eyes and lean his head back. He wanted desperately to see Harry, to lean into the warmth of that solid body and burrow in the mixed scent of Harry’s aftershave and cologne. He wanted to tilt his cheek into the cradle of Harry’s palm and feel the solid weight and width of Harry between his thighs.

He fell asleep during the brief ride over, and he hardly made a noise of protest as Pavel herded him all the way to his flat with a hand at his elbow. It took some convincing to get his friend out the door with promises that he would take it easy and call if he needed anything at all. Once he was alone, he took his medication, an hour early but he was hoping that it would help. He went back and forth about taking the Clonazepam, but decided that drowsiness was the better alternative to triggering a cluster of seizures.

He held the little pill under his tongue, laid down on the couch, set an alarm for a quarter to six, and waited for the heaviness to settle into his limbs.

-

The sound of the Jurassic Park theme song roused him from his drug-assisted sleep. He stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face in the hopes of shaking off the sensation of wading through a murky, viscous miasma.

He looked like shit. Pallid with tired eyes. Well, there was nothing to be done for it.

He went through the motions of changing out of his rumpled suit and into a pair of jeans and thermal long sleeves under a well-worn crimson jumper. He pulled on his gloves and coat at the door and hesitated over his choice of scarf. He still had Harry’s scarf. He’d meant to return it when they met for their second date, but he had forgotten about it at the last minute.

Feeling a bit desperate and ridiculous, he wrapped it carefully around himself and breathed in the lingering wisps of Harry’s cologne. He recognized – then quickly put away – the thought that the older man’s scent should settle him so much.

JB snuffled at his shoes, and he reached down to scratch behind the ears, chuckling at the way JB’s hind leg twitched in response.

“Be good while I’m out, alright?”

His faithful companion whimpered, his canine intuition recognizing that he wouldn’t be following Eggsy out this time. Eggsy had considered taking JB with him, but if worst came to worst… he was being paranoid, but paranoid had saved him and his patrol unit more times than he could remember in Afghanistan.

Constance vigilance and all that rubbish.

It was easy enough to catch a cab outside, and he mentally winced when even the driver – who probably had tales to tell about the sort of things he saw in his line of work – gave him worried looks through the rearview mirror.

“It’s none o’ my business, but… you a’ight, lad?”

“It’s been a long day,” Eggsy admitted with a wan smile, “a long week really.”

“I feel ya,” the driver nodded, “well, if ‘is any sor’ of consolation, we’re past the halfway mark.”

“A glass half full sort of man?” he replied, making light conversation to distract himself. The cabbie seemed a nice enough fellow. Early to mid-forties. South London, if his accent was any indication. A wife and two children but not as young as the photograph taped to his dash showed.

“Life not worf livin’ otherwise, yeah?” He said with a full-bellied laugh.

“No, I suppose not,” Eggsy agreed amiably.

“So, wut you do fer a livin’ then.”

“I’m a tailor.”

“Like suits and stuff, yeah?”

“Precisely. The occasional coat, but it’s not my specialty.”

“Like them ones on Savile Row.”

“Yes, that’s where I work.”

The cabbie whistled appreciatively, “You’s workin’ wif real fancy suits then. I been saving up fer one. Had money saved up for me young one’s uni, but she’s real smart you see?” He tapped at the photograph. “Got a scholarship to LSE, stipend an’ everything. She said, Da, you use that money and get yourself a nice suit and wear it when I graduate.”

“That’s lovely,” Eggsy said and meant it wholeheartedly.

“So one of these days, I’m going to pop in and get myself all measured up like a gentleman though I’m hardly a gentleman like you. Born and raised in the Estates meself.”

“Nonsense. Being a gentleman has nothing to do with the circumstances of one’s birth,” Eggsy said, finding that his father’s words flowed easily from his own lips.

“That’s kind of you to say, Mr…”

“Bridgmont. But call me Gary.”

“Nice to meet ya, Gary. Name’s Gregor,” he said jovially.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gregor.”

“How’d you get to be a tailor then?” Gregor asked, “Not the usual sort of occupation for young folks these days.”

“I was in the Marines before,” he explained, “did two tours in Afghanistan, but got the boot with a medical discharge.”

“Marines! No kiddin’! I was in the Army meself. Good to meet another former serviceman.” He grinned, “Musta been some transition though. Goin’ from that to tailoring.”

“It’s the family business actually. My father and his father were also tailors.”

“Ah, it’s in your blood then.”

“And you? How did you come to be a driver?”

“Well, I drove just about everything in the army through just about every terrain. I’ve got a head for maps and road. So, I studied and took The Knowledge exams, and here I am.”

“I hear the exams rather difficult,” Eggsy said.

“Anything worth doing is,” Gregor said easily as the cab finally pulled up in front of the hotel, “Anyway, here we are. ’Twas a real pleasure, Gary. And if you mind me sayin’ so, maybe you need a vacation from all that tailorin’ business. You’s lookin’ a bit peaky.”

Eggsy nodded, “Christmas is coming so I might get that vacation yet.”

And he had only one foot out the door when a thought occurred to him. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet where he always kept a few business cards on hand.

“Do you have a pen, Gregor?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Hang on,” he said as he rummaged around.

Once Eggsy had a pen in hand, he quickly jotted down Jamal’s number on the back, “This is my card. When you decide it’s time to get measured for that suit, ask for me. It’d be my privilege to make sure you get the whole experience.”

“Kingsman, bespoke tailors…” Gregor murmured. “And the number on the back here?” he asked, flipping the card over.

“I’ve got a favor to ask you, Gregor. A small one, but rather important.”

“What’s the favor?”

“My mobile number is the second one on the front,” he said. “Can you call that number an hour from now?”

“What for?”

Eggsy shook his head, “If I don’t answer, please call the number on the back and let my friend know that you dropped me off here? His name’s Jamal.”

Gregor was quiet as he looked from the card to Eggsy, taking in the tense line of his shoulders, the tight line of his lips. “I’ve never met a tailor before, but I know yer an odd one, guv.”

Eggsy had no response other than a wry tilt of his lips.

“I’ll do it,” Gregor said firmly. He twisted in his seat to extend a hand at Eggsy, who took it firmly. “Take care of yerself, guv.”

“I will. Thank you, Gregor.”

-

“He’s just entered the lobby. He should be here in a few minutes.” Merlin said. “Remember what we discussed, Amelia.”

They had gone back and forth about whether it was better to continue with Amelia or have Merlin step in. Amelia and Harry argued that it would be better for Eggsy to be met with the devil he knew, as it were, than to be faced with another unknown. Merlin and Roxy – who had watched the video with growing skepticism – countered that it might be worthwhile to remove Amelia who Eggsy already categorized as threatening.

In the end, the compromise was that they would stick with Amelia with the understanding that she would go in with a bit more… finesse.

“I remember.”

Everything was ready to go: the paperwork, the portable biometric scanners to take Eggsy’s finger and palm prints and retinal pattern, several models of surveillance devices to be planted, an encrypted phone to make contact with his handler, and an emergency beacon and tracker hidden into a replica of Eggsy’s medical ID bracelet.

In the adjacent bedroom, Harry, Merlin, and Roxy watched as Eggsy took the elevator and walked steadily down the hall. When he reached the door, he stood for a second, checked his phone before pocketing it away again, and raised his hand to knock.

When Eggsy came into view through Amelia’s glasses – another compromise in addition to the cameras already installed around the room – Merlin cursed quietly under his breath. Roxy breathed in sharply, and Harry went stiff from shock as guilt punched him in the gut and concern washed over him like a plunge into icy water.

The three looked at each other with the same thought. Eggsy looked nothing like the lively young man they’d met or seen not long ago.

“Oh, Eggsy,” Roxy whispered, “what happened to him?”

“He looks ill,” Merlin said quietly.

“And drugged.” Harry added.

“Drugged?” Roxy’s voice, though hushed, was sharp.

“His movements are a little bit more sluggish than normal.”

Merlin nodded, “You're right.”

“Probably some sort of sedative,” Harry said, “It’s not uncommon to take central nervous system suppressants for seizures, something in the benzo class maybe.”

Merlin and Roxy looked at him. Harry shrugged. So he’d done his research; he wanted to be informed about Eggsy’s condition as his lover – if that would survive past tonight – and, at the very least, as his handler.

“Should we pull back? Postpone at least?” Roxy suggested.

But it was too late to pull the plug now. The only way out was through, and they all knew it.

They watched on as Amelia and Eggsy took their respective seats from their last meeting. He didn’t look quite as tense this time, but they suspected that it was because he was too exhausted and medicated to be.

“I take your presence to mean that you’ve come to… a decision?” Amelia was asking, her face neutral, less of the sharp smile from last time.

“I’ll do it.”

“Excellent, we’re very glad to hear it,” Amelia replied.

“What’s all this?” Eggsy motioned at the spread before him.

“Well, to start with,” she handed him a pen, “paperwork. The SIS is as much of a bureaucracy as any other branch of the government, and we’d be remiss without our share of paper pushing.”

Eggsy eyed the pile of paper before him with little tabs that stuck out along the left edge, indicating where his signature was required.

“I think I signed less when I bought my flat,” he said deadpan. “The gist of this being… if I talk I’m dead?”

“We’d like to think we’re a bit more nuanced than that,” Amelia said with a frown, “we’re not _America_ you know, sending people off to Guantanamo at the slightest provocation.”

That actually coaxed a laugh from Eggsy, who started to sign where indicated. He stopped occasionally to ask questions, indicating that he was actually reading the documents quite thoroughly for the speed he was going at.

“I feel like I’m going to find ‘Present company shall not be liable for injuries including but not limited to laceration, evisceration, and incineration’ somewhere in this stack,” he said when he took a break to shake out his cramping hand.

“Avaricious dragons are more in the domain of our active agents,” Amelia quipped back.

Through Amelia’s glasses, they watched as Eggsy paused briefly, the tiniest of smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, before he continued.

On the other side of the wall, the two agents and quartermaster breathed a sigh of relief.

-

Once the paperwork was over with, Amelia guided Eggsy through the biometric scans and setting up his mobile. “I don’t need to emphasize how important it is that you do not lose this,” she said as she handed him the phone.

“Does it… self-destruct or something?”

Amelia rolled her eyes, “Bloody James Bond movies. No, but it will clear its memory if you don’t get the password correct in four attempts.”

“That’s it? Well, what’s my password?”

“You set your own password. It must be at least twelve characters long and may not contain words in any language that uses the alphabet. It must include numbers but not any associated with your birthday, anniversary date, etcetera, etcetera. At least three special characters with at least one character between them. Random but something you can remember.”

“Bugger,” Eggsy muttered as he went about setting his password.

“It shouldn’t be a problem with your near eidetic memory,” Amelia added.

“Alright. What else?”

“This,” Amelia said as she held up the medical ID bracelet, “is identical to the one you’re wearing now. At least in appearance.” She gestured at his left wrist, “but you can slide the tab apart.”

The engraved metal split into two thinner slides that slid open to reveal a small black strip inside. “When you close it again,” it snapped back with a click, “it activates the distress signal and tracker inside.”

“Is the tracker live otherwise?” Eggsy asked as he unclasped the one already on his wrist.

“Unless you give us reason to bring it on remotely, no. We might be in the business of espionage, but we do try to preserve as much privacy as possible.”

Eggsy looked a bit skeptical, but he clasped on the bracelet Amelia handed him without complaint.

“Alright,” she continued, “I’m going to go through the three main models of surveillance equipment that we use. We can’t exactly give you a user’s manual for them, so please pay attention.”

When she finished, she had Eggsy repeat everything back to her before she was satisfied and handed him a small rectangular box about the size of two smartphones stacked together. “To begin with you’ll be given four of each. You’ll be given the names of targets that pass through Kingsman that we’d like you to tag, but it’s at your discretion as to which tracker can be better hidden in the garments.”

“And if I run out?” Eggsy said as he gingerly took the box.

“Let your handler know – his contact information has already been entered into your mobile. He’ll resupply you one way or another,” Amelia replied.

“He?” Eggsy said as he glanced at his watch. Thirty-nine minutes – it had felt much longer than that.

“Yes. Once I leave, you’ll be meeting your handler,” Amelia stood up. “If all goes well, this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

“Oh,” Eggsy said. “Thank you then. For your help with all this.”

Amelia’s expression softened a fraction, and she finally understood Merlin. Gary Bridgmont, for his talents and history – and potential – for lethality, was obviously a kind soul, much too giving and forgiving.

“Good luck, Mr. Bridgmont,” she offered him a hand.

He took it and squeezed gently. “You, too. I think.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy meets Harry. Again(?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I went back and forth about twenty times about how I wanted this meeting to go down.  
> Still not sure I made the right call... Oh well, here it is, folks.

Eggsy gaped openly.

“Shut up.”

It was such a departure from the young man’s genteel manners that Harry blinked himself in surprise.

“You need to say something, Galahad,” Merlin’s voice reminded him, a reassuring voice in his ear.

“Hello, Eggsy,” was the best he could manage, all his prepared speeches falling away in the moment. He had thought he was prepared for every possible reaction, but this hadn’t quite been on the list.

“You’ve got to be taking the piss,” Eggsy said numbly. He buried his face into his hands.

At a loss for what to do, Harry waited, standing very still lest he startle the young man. At the very least, Eggsy hadn’t reacted with fear or anger. Then again, he was still a bit dumbfounded and shocked. There was plenty of chance and time for a less favorable reaction once the situation properly set in.

Finally, Eggsy looked up and breathed shakily.

“You might as well sit down, Harry,” he said quietly.

Harry sat in the settee diagonal, rather than across, from Eggsy. He didn’t want this to be impersonal because it was anything but.

“I apologize if I’ve… shocked you unduly,” he began, holding the younger man’s gaze steadily, “it wasn’t my or my colleagues’ intention, but there weren’t many options for this, well, introduction.”

“Introduction,” Eggsy said blandly.

“A poor choice of words,” Harry conceded as Merlin groaned.

“But… I think I understand,” Eggsy said slowly. “Part of me is… I don’t know. I feel like I should have known somehow?”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry said gently, “and it’s a very recent development for myself as well.”

“Which part of it? You being a spook or being my, what’s the word, handler?”

“The latter. It’s,” he hesitated over the right word, “atypical at best.”

“Atypical?” Eggsy asked warily.

Merlin sighed over the comms, “You might as well tell him, Harry.”

“This breaks all manners of protocols,” Harry said with a slight wince, “but I was loath to let anyone else have you.”

“Oh. Conflict of interest?” Eggsy guessed.

“To be put it mildly.”

The silence stretched on for what felt like an interminable moment before Eggsy spoke again.

“So… it was real then?”

“Eggsy,” Harry found himself reaching for Eggsy’s hands before he could stop himself, “remember when I mentioned that I’ve admired you for a long time?”

Despite himself and the frankly preposterous, improbable situation, Eggsy blushed at the memory of necking on his kitchen counter with Harry.

“I first noticed that you’d grown to become a fine young man when I visited you with your father at Royal London,” he admitted ruefully.

“But that was – ”

“Eleven years ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. And I felt quite… guilty over my inappropriate attraction,” he confessed, “particularly considering you were injured at the time. This was shortly before you were diagnosed though I didn’t realize that until recently.”

Eggsy nodded.

“Please don’t doubt that my affection is, has been, and will ever be anything but genuine,” Harry continued, “and I hope you can forgive me for any deception on my part.”

“Stop,” Eggsy said, turning his palm so that he could properly grasp Harry’s hand. “I’ll admit I was… that this wasn’t what I expected. It’s not every day that the not-barrister you’re seeing turns out to be some James Bond character,” he cracked a wry little smile for Harry’s benefit, “but you couldn’t have told me anything. You’d be a pretty terrible… whatever you are, if you did, right?”

“I would,” Harry agreed, feeling the first wisps of relief as hope tentatively bloomed in his chest.

“Remember what I said, Harry. You never outright lied to me, so there’s nothing to forgive really. You were just doing your job.”

“But I know you had your suspicions,” Harry finally brought himself to say. It was a question, too, in its own way.

“Well, the bullet wounds were odd for a guy who was supposed to be a barrister, especially the one on your arm that looks like someone went to town on it with a pocket knife. You’ve got,” Eggsy looked down at their hands and spread open Harry’s palm, “a very distinctive callous pattern for someone who ought to have soft hands working in an office all day,” he traced them carefully, “you’re remarkably accident prone for someone who moves with as much grace and body awareness as you do – Andrew’s remarked on it a few times. There’s more, but… it narrowed down the things you could have been.”

“I could have been something a lot more dangerous,” Harry said, swallowing.

Eggsy shrugged. “And I decided you were worth the risk. Just like I decided _this_ is worth the risk as well. I think I might have agreed on the spot if I knew you were part of the package,” he added with a smirk.

“Which is precisely why I waited until you made your decision,” Harry replied. “I didn’t want your decision to be swayed – in other direction – by my involvement.”

“And I appreciate that, I think. I assume we keep this separate from…” he trailed off, not confident enough to give name to what they had.

“It goes without saying that it has to be kept confidential, but we don’t have to pretend that we don’t have a handler-informant relationship as well.”

Eggsy seemed to relax a bit at that. “Alright, I can work with that.”

“Did you have any more questions? I’ll try to answer as much as I’m allowed,” Harry said honestly.

“Oh, Harry. I’ve got about a million questions, but I think I need time to let everything process, you know? I have to sort things out properly on my own,” Eggsy said as he stood slowly, “I’m glad it’s you though, Harry.”

Harry stood with him, “If you change your mind about… anything – ”

“I won’t,” Eggsy said firmly as he stepped into Harry’s space, “can I?”

And who was Harry to deny Eggsy anything? Harry gathered Eggsy into his arms and felt his heart tremble and soar when the younger man seemed to sigh and sag into his embrace with relief.

“I should have asked before,” he said, Eggsy’s hair tickling his lips and nose, “but you don’t look entirely well.”

“Had an episode this afternoon, and honestly I’m a bit knackered.”

“Eggsy, you shouldn’t have – ”

He was interrupted by the muffled noise of Eggsy’s phone going off.

“Hang on,” Eggsy said, stepping back, “Sorry, I need to take this. Gregor? Yes, I’m alright,” he glanced at Harry, who was looking at him with a moue of concern and maybe a little bit of disapproval, “just finishing up actually… You’re… oh, well. In that case. Could you wait five, maybe ten, minutes more?” Eggsy glanced at his watch. “I’ll be down as soon as I can… see you in a few.”

He pocketed his phone and looked up at Harry a little sheepishly, “My insurance policy. He doesn’t know anything, but I asked him to call me after an hour. If I didn’t answer, he would let one of my friends know that I’d been dropped off here.”

Merlin chuckled in Harry’s ear, “Even your boy knows not to go into a situation without backup.” He sounded a little bit impressed, and Harry had to admit that he was, too.

“It sounds like your insurance policy is waiting downstairs.”

“He’s a cabbie actually. I think he might have waited for me?”

Trust Eggsy to make the most unexpected friends.

“Then you should go,” Harry said, “go home, give yourself time to think about everything, and rest. You look you need it.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Eggsy quipped, but even as he could feel the exhaustion he’d held at bay starting to overcome him. “Will you walk me down?”

Merlin gave the go ahead, not that Harry needed it. They spoke little as they made their way to the lobby though Eggsy gave him a small, reassuring small when they got off the elevator.

Eggsy hugged Harry again in the lobby, sliding his arms under Harry’s coat and suit jacket. “Can I call you later? Once I’ve had time to freak out and panic over this in my own time?” he murmured into Harry’s shoulder. “I’m drugged up to my gills, and I’m sure I’m not thinking straight.” When he felt Harry stiffen, he quickly amended, “Not for this. Don’t worry, I made my decision on Monday. But I think I’ll need to hear your voice later. Is that okay?”

“Always, my darling.”

“Good. I’ve got to go,” Eggsy said as he pulled back, “kept Gregor waiting long enough.”

“I understand. Will you let me know when you get in tonight? It would put my mind at ease.”

“Yes, Harry,” he agreed before turning around to stride into the cold November evening.

“He’s in the same cab he came in,” Merlin confirmed. “Come back up. We’ll wrap up quickly here and then you can head home yourself, Harry.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff I think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the rabbit hole one finds herself when "researching" for a fic... I've long been interested in fine clothing (even though I can't afford any of this, what), and I'm admittedly a bit of an Anglophile. I could spend forever talking about different cuts of suits and pleats and textiles.  
>   
> I own like... maybe 5 off the rack from Banana Republic or something. Alas...  
> Anyway, I just wanted to share some of the more interesting articles that I've come across on the great World Wide Web. There's much more bookmarked (my poor bookmarks bar...), but these stood out for one reason or another.
> 
> An article on bespoke tailoring written for the layman for entertainment (worth a read):  
> https://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/the-suit-that-couldnt-be-copied
> 
> A King's Scholar exam (for scholarship/entrance to UK public schools, I had Eton in mind):  
> Mostly... Read question 1. Part (c) is fucking hilarious.  
> http://www.etoncollege.com/userfiles/files/Eton%20College%20King's%20Scholarship%202003%20examinations%20papers.pdf
> 
> This is Eggsy's flat (with some differences in decoration obviously):  
> http://www.rightmove.co.uk/property-for-sale/property-51622956.html
> 
> You might notice that I take a lot of inspiration and like to weave in little pieces of reality into my fiction.  
> Case in point - Campbell Carey is in fact the creative director and one of the senior cutters at Huntsman!  
> https://www.huntsmansavilerow.com/the-team/the-cutters/#/the-cutters-intro

Eggsy felt terribly guilty about Gregor missing out on cab fare during the hour he had waited for Eggsy. Gregor only waved him off, but Eggsy reminded himself to tip him enough to make up for waiting and the favor the man had come through on.

“It’s a Wednesday night, not terribly busy anyway,” Gregor said breezily though Eggsy was sure this wasn’t entirely true. London was never lacking for people eager to flag down a ride. “Let’s just worry about getting you home, Gary. You look like you’s about to pass out on me, and yer not even pissed,” he chuckled.

“I’ll do my best to stay alert,” Eggsy replied. He meant it to be teasing, but he found that he truly was, in fact, very ready to collapse into bed, the tension that had been coiled up inside having bled away finally. He felt like a marionette with its lines suddenly cut and slumping helplessly to the ground.

“I ain’t going to pry, but ye had me worried,” Gregor said when they stopped at a light. “I’ve been driving this cab long enough to see all sorts, Gary, and the only other time someone asked me a favor like that…”

He trailed off, hesitating, but Eggsy could tell that the man had more to say, something to get off his chest, and so he waited patiently.

“Fifteen years ago. I’d had my license for less than a year. Pretty young lass, a little younger than you, I’d reckon. A workin’ girl. And I ain’t sayin’ you’re in that line of work, o’ course,” he then hurriedly added, “and not that there’s anyfin’ wrong with it. People do what they got to do to make rent. But the lass… she said she had no pimp, and she was terrified, I could tell, and she tol’ me that her customer that night might finally going to go too far.”

“Oh, Gregor,” he sighed. He didn’t even know this woman, but he could just feel how conflicted Gregor must have felt, letting her out of his cab. He hadn’t really considered what Gregor must have felt when Eggsy asked this favor of him. “I’m so sorry I put you through this.”

“You got nuffin’ to apologize for. Whatever happened tonight, it looks like it turned out alright, and I’m mighty glad for that,” Gregor says, “you look knackered but less tense now. Before, you was all keyed up. I know that look, lad, probably wore the same a few times myself during the Gulf War.”

Eggsy found he had no helpful words, for himself or for Gregor. Instead, he leaned against the window, relishing in the relief of the cool glass against his forehead.

Gregor, too, said no more though he did occasionally glance at the young man through the rearview mirror. He’d been so relieved when he saw Gary coming through the hotel doors. For a few seconds before Gary had picked up the phone, his heart had sat heavy.

The working girl had barely survived that night, and he remembered seeing on the news that the sadistic client had been arrested and eventually went away for twenty years. Several other women, as well his ex-wife, had come forward to testify against the man’s violent proclivities, and Gregor carried the burden that he might have spared that poor lass the horrors of that night with him.

-

“Well,” Merlin said as Harry secured the bolt lock, “that went fairly well all things considered. He took your ‘introduction’ with minimal fuss.”

“Frankly, I don’t think he had the energy to lash out,” Harry said as he sank into the same settee he had been sitting on before. “He admitted himself that he was medicated to the gills and had an episode this afternoon – and a particularly bad one if his appearance is any indication.”

The concern that they were adding a significant stressor to Eggsy’s life was a valid one, but there was nothing to be done for it now except play the waiting game. Roxy hedged that it may have been the novelty of the situation and that Eggsy would adjust to the new status quo. Given that the young man had shown resiliency and adaptability to be among his better traits, the trio were inclined to believe that it would be the case.

“He has a keen eye, doesn’t he?” Roxy said, “But a very open book. He can stonewall someone, but I think subterfuge is lost on him.”

“It’s refreshing,” Harry said, “and if I wanted to live a Mr. and Mrs. Smith sort of violent domesticity, I would have looked to someone within the department.”

“I take it that’s a road you’ve been down?” she hedged.

“And would rather not revisit,” he said, summarily dismissing that topic.

“Quite,” Merlin added. “Now, we need to compile a list of persons of interest for our Rabbit. We have the list of existing Kingsman clientele. We’ve filtered out the ones with low priority or have already been tagged. Also, not on this draft of the list are customers who have had Andrew as their cutter.”

“Cutter?” Roxy asked.

“That’s technically what Andrew and Eggsy are,” Harry explained, “not tailors. They introduce themselves as tailors because it would confuse most people. In essence, they design your suit and make the pattern.”

“Oh.”

“Even though Eggsy didn’t measure you, he still had you stand for him. A good cutter, which Eggsy most assuredly is, will take into account the… idiosyncrasies that go beyond your measurements. The stoop of the shoulders, slight leans of the body, if one shoulder drops more than the other, uneven shoulder blades, how the hips align, whether a person stands with the knees heavily locked. They take everything into account to make sure that the suit follows the natural line of your body in the most flattering way.”

Roxy nodded in newfound appreciation of the craft.

“In a house like Kingsman, one will usually be hired into one role, but Eggsy is a bit of an exception. He specialized as a jacket tailor at Gieves & Hawkes, and his boss takes advantage of that as needed.”

“So they don’t actually do the sewing?”

“Not unless you’re running your own business. Andrew does not, which is why you see him more frequently on the shop floor. I believe Eggsy still spends a fair share of time in the workshop.”

Eggsy had mentioned it during their second dinner, the one at Caballero. Campbell, their creative director and one of the head cutters, as well as Andrew wanted him to spend more time on the shop floor, but this was Eggsy’s first time working as a full-time cutter. He’d been an undercutter at his previous apprenticeships, which meant he could leave most of the customer interaction to the head cutter he was working under.

He could only take so much shit on a given day, Eggsy had confessed. People willing to pay over five thousand pounds on a suit were usually “crooks, cranks, or cripples, usually all three” – wise words from a wise man that Eggsy had once apprenticed under – and he found that his patience wore thin rather quickly. The difficult clients reminded him too much of his classmates who made subtle barbs about his scholarship status - the sort that had spurred him to pick up a perfect Received Pronunciation.

“He’s still developing ‘a tolerance for silver spoons up certain orifices’,” Harry said, his tone making the air quotes quite clear.

Roxy snorted in amusement. “If they’re anything like Charlie or Chester, I can sympathize.”

“He’ll have to do more cutting and less tailoring if he’s going to get enough exposure to put him in contact with persons of interest,” Merlin pointed out. “I’m sure he won’t be terribly thrilled about that.”

“Andrew has been pushing him toward that role more anyway,” Harry said, “and he might not like it, but Eggsy can be quite charming when he wants to be. And not necessarily. He has a wider access on the workshop floor if they continue to make use of his skills there. The challenge would be figuring out who’s working on who’s order and making sure he can engineer an opportunity to securely plant a bug.”

“He’s been given one of the adhesive models,” Roxy said, “those are fairly easy to plant, a brush of the hand really.”

“They’ll do in a pinch, but they’re best left for short-term engagements. They have a higher chance of those falling off, and their battery life is relatively limited. Also, they’re more likely to be detected,” Merlin explained. “As it stands, they’re the ones that Andrew has primarily been using, and we’ve lost a few of them in transit.”

“Well,” Roxy sighed, “Let’s get started so that Galahad has a preliminary list to hand off to our Rabbit by the end of the week.”

-

Eggsy could feel the twin weight of Andrew’s and Pavel’s watchful gaze following him as he shuffled between the shop floor and workshop below. They were circumspect enough to refrain from commenting when he came in an hour later than his customary time, and Eggsy had hurried to the workshop under the excuse that he was keen to check on Elaine’s work from yesterday.

He went about his morning following his usual routine and maintaining an outward placidity to demonstrate that he was back to his usual form while the phone Amelia had given him the previous night burned a metaphorical hole in his breast pocket.

He did feel much better when JB woke him with a slobbering kiss this morning. He was well rested after conking out for a solid nine hours of sleep, drug-assisted or not. It also helped that Harry had wished him a good night (with a smiley face!) via text after Eggsy let the man know he’d made it home safely last night.

Another text wishing him a good day arrived in the morning while Eggsy was nursing a cup of tea, and Eggsy had to remind himself to not smile like a loon. It would look suspicious and strange to have a dopey expression on his face after what had happened yesterday afternoon – he could tell that Andrew found the ups and downs of his mood and condition a cause of concern.

He stepped out during his lunch hour before his father or friend could descend on him like a pair of carrion birds and popped into a quiet bistro a few blocks over where the prices wouldn’t bankrupt him – almost everything else was exorbitantly priced in this area of London. Then again, dropping fifty quid on lunch was probably a drop in the bucket for those who shopped in these parts.

He also frequented this bistro because the day manager was a diehard dog lover, and he didn’t make a fuss about having to let JB in and always made sure that the dog had a little bowl of water.

After a moment’s hesitation while waiting for his soup and sandwich to arrive, he tapped off a text to Harry.

>> Eggsy: I know you might be working, but can I call you?

Rather than a reply, Eggsy’s phone started to vibrate.

“Hullo,” he answered, a little bit embarrassed at how breathless he sounded. Hopefully, Harry couldn’t tell over the phone.

“How are you, Eggsy?”

He bit his lower lip to stifle a whimper at the warmth of Harry’s voice, suddenly very grateful to have nabbed the corner table where people wouldn’t see him blushing furiously by himself.

“I’m… doing better actually,” he said. “Slept like a rock, it helped.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

“I… didn’t have any particular reason for calling actually,” Eggsy admitted and mouthed a thank you to the waitress when she dropped off his order.

Harry hummed noncommittally before asking, “Are you on your lunch break?”

“Yeah. Had to pop out before Andrew and Pasha pounced, you know?”

“They’re only concerned for you,” Harry reminded him gently. “As am I. Though you definitely sound better than… before.”

“I know. It’s just…” He didn’t want to go back to being treated like he was fragile. It had taken years before people stopped treading around him like they were walking on eggshells. “I can take care of myself, you know? Been dealing with this for a dozen years now, yeah?”

“Of course, but your parents and your friends care for you dearly. Logic often loses out when it comes to loved ones.”

“You don’t have to be so reasonable,” Eggsy said glumly as he stirred his soup.

Harry chuckled in response, “Give it time, and things will revert back to normal. I’m sorry to cut this short, but it looks like I’m being summoned.”

“Oh, sorry, yeah. I’ll, um, just.” Jesus Christ, _use your words_ , _Eggsy_.

“Before I go, how do you feel about a show Saturday evening?”

“What sort of show?”

“A musical. It's touring from Broadway. A colleague of mine recommended it.”

And so it was arranged that Harry would pick Eggsy up from his at half past five on Saturday. It would leave him very little time to get ready after helping out Ben at the gymnasium but he didn’t really mind. Harry bade Eggsy a rather hurried goodbye with an accompanying – and an equally rushed – apology, and Eggsy was left smiling stupidly at his sandwich and coup with giddy anticipation bubbling in his chest.

He finished his lunch, noticing that somehow half an hour had already flown by, and braced himself for the inevitable inquisition from Andrew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this... with the intention of keeping it short, but goddammit, my penchant for fleshing out OCs is really fucking me over. Gahhhh!!  
> I have finally, however, sat down and written out plot points in a proper Excel spreadsheet and everything.
> 
> As always, your kudos and comments are love! I'm at tumblr that I don't post much to, but come say hi!  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/oxfordmanners
> 
> Also, I went down a YouTube rabbit-hole:  
> This is a rather understated one for Egerton and Firth, but at about the 5:30 mark, Taron stares at Colin for a solid 30 to 40 seconds. That said, Eggsy seems to have very intense stares for Colin in all his interviews.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeaL3DJKNIQ  
> 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A show and an intermission wherein Eggsy meets some of Harry's 'friends'.
> 
> AKA so many crossovers blended together because I need characters to fill up the Round Table. See if you can guess which actors/characters I have in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen or listened to Book of Mormon (the musical, not the actual text), it is gold and so, so amazing and funny.  
> I've been listening to it on repeat for the past week because I have obsessive tendencies...

Eggsy had managed to survive his family’s interrogation with half-truths about how a treatment option has fallen through – which led to another half hour detour of why-the-bloody-hell-would-you-not and Andrew-darling-it’s-Eggsy’s-choice – and the ups and downs of a new relationship – he told them it was far too recent of a development for any ‘meet the parents’ sort of talk. They didn’t seem one hundred percent convinced, but they seemed mollified enough to stop the third degree.

Watching at Harry chuckle at the opening sequence of the musical – Book of Mormon, which was aces, because he had been dying to see this one – he wondered when a relationship was ‘serious’ enough to be doing introductions to family. How far did one need to fall in love for a relationship to tip the scale in favor of _worth mentioning_?

At least, Eggsy thought as he took in Harry’s handsome profile, he knew without a doubt that exclusivity was mutually understood.

Harry, who must have sensed that Eggsy was watching him, turned his head to give him a soft smile and another gentle squeeze of his hand.

Eggsy wondered if he ought to feel a little bit self-conscious about how Harry’s hand seemed to swallow his own. Long, elegant fingers, capable. Competent. Surely they could break down and assemble a rifle with the likes of Forrest Gump.

He smiled a bit at that thought.

“Are you enjoying the show?” Harry leaned over to whisper.

“It’s brilliant,” he whispered back, “those yanks across the pond get _some_ things right, don’t they?”

“That they do, my boy, that they do.”

Eggsy felt heat flood up his neck and cheeks – even his ears felt warm – and thanked the deities that the house lights were down to hide his flush. _My boy._ My. As in the possessive determiner of the first person singular. Possessive was right, and Eggsy was convinced the gods were looking out for him because his sport coat was already in his lap. His trousers, measured and tailored to the fraction of a fraction of an inch by yours truly, flattered his ‘exhibit A’ but would definitely not hide any show of arousal.

He was glad that the musical had him laughing in stitches to distract him and bring his interest down to a mild simmer. By the time the house lights went up for intermission, he was presentable for polite company again.

Of course, he had to stand up too fast, and when he swayed in place while the edges of his vision greyed out, Harry’s hands were at his elbow, warm through the weave of his shirt.

“Steady there, Eggsy.”

Harry looked at him, a little bit bemused.

“Got up too fast,” he murmured sheepishly.

“I can see that,” Harry said, “I think we have enough time to stretch our legs before the intermission’s over. Shall we?”

It would, of course, so happen that they would bump into Roxy. She was standing around one of those cocktail tables with the surface area of a shilling that everyone had to stand shoulder to shoulder for any party larger than five. She was in the company of a middle-aged woman and two men who had their backs to Harry and Eggsy.

Her eyes lit up in recognition when she spotted them ambling in their direction.

“Eggsy!” she said and lightly kissed him on the cheek, “It’s so good to see you again!”

If this were a movie, there would have been the sound of a record scratch accompanied by a freeze frame.

Roxy.

Who worked with Harry.

Roxy who had a poodle named after a gun.

And worked at the same 'firm' as Harry.

Well then.

“It’s good to see you too, Roxy. How was the trip to Sweden?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she groaned, “one of the clients was a total prick, one of those micromanagers that couldn’t find his arse in the dark with both hands, but it worked out in the end.”

Harry stepped up beside Eggsy, sliding an arm around the younger man’s waist and gathering him in half a step closer. Eggsy happily let himself be pulled against Harry’s side, glad that the demonstration made his relationship to the older man a foregone conclusion to everyone present.

“Good evening, Roxy,” Harry said, “Don’t I merit a hello?”

“I just saw you yesterday,” she said, smirking, and introduced Eggsy to her friends and introduced the group in kind to Eggsy. It seemed that Harry was already familiar with them by the friendly smile or nods sent his way.

The middle-aged woman next to Roxy positively exuded regal grace, and Eggsy felt like he was in the presence of royalty under her gaze. She wore her vintage fifties style suit with more poise than any model Eggsy had worked with before. She certainly looked like an editor for a fashion magazine that she claimed to be – a slightly younger and more benevolent Miranda Priestly.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Aird,” he said as he shook her hand.

“Carol will do… Eggy, was it?”

“Eggsy,” he said.

The next was a bald man who stood about the same height as Harry. He did _not_ look like an IT consultant. At all. He would have looked like a mob boss or a hitman if not for the genuine smile on his severe face with its deep-set eyes and high, aquiline nose. The only aspect to him that indicated _boffin_ were his glasses, and he actually wore them rather well without even toeing into the ‘geeky chic’ territory.

“Mark,” the bald guy said. His handshake was firm and dry.

The second fellow was no taller than Eggsy but he was broader and carried himself with an imposing presence. He seemed to command attention much in the same way as Harry but with a darker, more brooding sort of flavor. Eggsy could imagine him entering a room, his influence almost a tangible thing that spread out like the turbulent tendrils of a dense fog, spilling over and swirling at knee height.

“Ray,” he said a little gruffly, his voice was rough as though he weren’t accustomed to speaking much. “A pleasure.”

He was also impeccably dressed in a black wool three-piece. The waistcoat had a cream peak lapel lining, which was an unusual bit of extra flair, but it suited the man well. It was the sort of detail that might come out of Edward Sexton’s workshop.

Eggsy would bow down at the feet of that genius. Edward was a genuinely, lovely person who once told Eggsy “people will come to you for clothes, not for elocution lessons” when he despaired of the snobbery he encountered on Savile Row.

“Edward’s work?” Eggsy asked, which drew confused from everyone, including the Ray himself.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, brows pulling in together.

“Sorry,” Eggsy said, blushing a little, “Your suit. Edward Sexton?”

Ray’s brows shot up in surprise, and his face opened into a smile – a little bit strained but only because the man looked like he wasn’t accustomed to smiling. He stood a little bit straighter at the recognition.

“A very keen eye,” he said, genuinely impressed “What is it you said you did again?”

“I didn’t,” Eggsy said, “but I’m a cutter at Kingsman. Edward is a friend of my father’s.”

“You recognized his work.”

“I’m in the presence of greatness,” Eggsy replied easily.

Ray was about to say something when a wiry man came toward the table with drinks in hand. He had a receding hairline of blonde hair shorn into a buzz cut, and he looked very, very familiar.

“Sorry about the wait, ladies and gents, the line was fucking – ” he stopped short at the sight of Eggsy. “Eggsy?”

“Sergeant Angel?” Eggsy exclaimed in delighted surprise and extricated himself from Harry to properly shake the man’s hand enthusiastically, grasping his forearm with his other hand. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Eggsy! I’m glad we’re meeting under much better circumstances,” he laughed, “and now I’ve gone and cocked it up. Knock on wood, eh?” He rapped the cocktail table twice, “And that’s Chief Inspector Angel to you, but seeing as how I’m not on duty, I think Nick will do.”

“Sure, guv,” Eggsy agreed easily, “so you’re back at the Met then? What about Constable Butterman?”

“Dragged him to London with me, kickin’ and screamin’, but he was a bit more amenable when the move came with a promotion to sergeant,” he puffed up a little, proud of his friend-protégé-partner.

Roxy cleared her throat, and Eggsy and Nick looked properly chastised, “No introductions necessary here then. How do you know each other?”

“Oh, um,” Eggsy looked a little bit embarrassed. “Got myself in a spot of bother when I went to visit Sandford last year.”

Harry reached out to take Eggsy’s hand, “Spot of bother?” It seemed trouble followed Eggsy wherever he went.

“Got carjacked, din’t he,” the inspector said, “well, an _attempted_ carjacking anyhow. He made quick work of the brothers that tried, locked them into the boot of his car, and waited for us to arrive to pick up the pair of miscreants.”

The other four pairs of eyes swiveled abruptly to Eggsy.

“Mind you,” Nick continued, “we still had to drive Eggsy to the clinic what with the bleeding head wound and taking a crowbar to the noggins. He had a proper goose egg by the time we arrived on the scene, but he must have scared the lads proper because they stayed out of trouble for a while after that.”

“I just had some stern words for them,” Eggsy said defensively, trying to make himself invisible against Harry’s side. Harry’s arm tightened reassuringly around Eggsy.

“No one would blame you if it was a bit more than that, lad,” the bald guy said, which was hardly the sort of thing one would expect a bloody _IT consultant_ to say, right? Or was he just sympathizing about the whole attempted carjacking thing. Just because Roxy was probably a spook like Harry didn’t mean _all_ of Harry’s friends were, too, right? He did look genuinely concerned for Eggsy though, and he was looking at Harry a bit oddly.

“Hey,” Eggsy said, looking up at Harry, “I was _fine_. Sergeant, sorry, _Inspector_ Angel here can testify to that.” Well, he hadn’t been immediately fine. There was a mild concussion and some vomiting involved, maybe half a dozen stitches, too. There wasn’t a hospital big enough for in-patient monitoring at Sandford however, so he had stayed the night at the guest room in Nick’s cottage while the then-sergeant and then-constable checked in on him periodically.

Fortunately, the arpeggio that signaled the end of the intermission rang through the hall, and no more was discussed of his countryside misadventure in the rush of quick goodbyes and parting good-to-see-you’s.

As the group scattered, the police officer – not policeman because that was rather sexist, Eggsy remembered – pressed his card into Eggsy’s hand, “Seeing as how we’re back in London, let’s stay in touch. And if you’re ever in any sort of trouble, don’t hesitate to call either.”

“Let’s,” he agreed, “and thank you.”

“It was good seeing you again,” he said before trotting off.

“Very friendly fellow,” Harry said a little stiffly.

His tone made Eggsy stop and peer at him carefully. “Harry, he’s in a relationship with his sergeant.”

“I see.”

“Of course you do,” Eggsy snickered as he sat down. “Now, give us a kiss before the show starts again,” he said and leaned across the elbow rest where Harry met him halfway.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New developments in Argentina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, plot is happening. Slowly but surely. I'm so excited to get this train rolling goddammit.
> 
> SIDE stands for Secretaría de Inteligencia, a defunct Argentina's intelligence agency. But since it's defunct, it means I can do whatever I want with it for the purposes of plot, right?

Of course, the relative peace couldn’t last. Not even for a night.

It was a little past three when Harry found himself reaching for his phone in the darkness, picking it off the bedside table so that it wouldn’t vibrate against the wood.

“Yeah?” He croaked and glanced at Eggsy, who was curled into Harry’s side, breathing softly in his sleep. His chest clenched a bit at the sight.

“We just had to pull heavy extraction for Gawain from Argentina,” Merlin said without preamble. He sounded utterly exhausted. “He… whoever the fucker was, they cut off his goddamn arm.”

“Shit, what?” Any vestige of sleep evaporated as he carefully left the bed, tucking the comforter carefully around Eggsy. He closed the door to the bedroom behind him as he made his way to his office. “Interrogation?” Were they worried that Gawain had been compromised?

“We don’t think so. It was a clean – let’s just say it’s a miracle he survived with the blood loss. He took a gunshot wound to the chest, and his assailant assumed he was dead.”

“How’d you get him out so fast?”

“SIDE owes me some favors.”

“You still keep in touch with those corrupt imbeciles at the Secretariat?”

“Nature of the beast, my friend.”

“And Gawain’s condition?” Harry asked as he pulled on a faded Oxford sweatshirt he kept in his office and fired up his laptop.

“The severed limb is on ice, and he’s on a jet to Houston for surgery. We won’t know anything for sure until he’s on the operating table.”

“What was he doing in Argentina?”

Investigating yet another berserker incident, it turned out. Gawain was making the approach to the lodge where the incident took place when he noticed something – or rather, everything – was amiss. The little mountain-side chalet, despite having been scene of a bloodbath only days before, looked immaculate. A professional cleanup crew had clearly been through the place already, and it was now occupied by what looked like a group of mercenaries holding some old guy hostage. Gawain had managed to take care of the guns-for-hire, but there had been another more dangerous enemy waiting in the wings.

“And the hostage?” Harry said as he logged into the network and pulled up Gawain’s mission details. “What happened to him?”

“Whoever whacked Gawain’s arm off absconded with him.”

“Do we know who the hostage is?”

“Aye, Alisadair sent a photo before he went in, and we were able to run facial recognition on it.” Merlin said, and a photograph of an eclectic academic type appeared on Harry’s screen. “Professor James Arnold, physics professor at Imperial College. Twice divorced – how on earth he _married_ twice is beyond me – but no children, thank god. Seems to have built up a… notoriety of sorts in his academic sphere, but the university can’t show him the door because the old geezer’s got tenure.”

“What sort of notoriety?” Harry asked as he scrolled down a file that must have been put together in record time by some poor analysts running on red bull and pots of burnt coffee.

“He’s a vocal supporter of an interesting version of the Gaia Theory,” Merlin said. “Borderline extremist environmentalist zealot and has some… what I would describe as eugenic leanings on population control.”

“Sounds like a charmer,” Harry said as he dragged a hand over his face. “What do you need me to do?”

“We’re sending you and Kay to see if there’s anything left to look at in Argentina. The professor flew to Argentina from Heathrow a week ago, but we don’t know why. See if we can get behind that. Scope out the lodge though I’m not holding out too much hope given how quickly the massacre was cleaned up before Gawain got there.”

“Carol, too?” he frowned “Is that necessary?”

“Given what happened to Gawain, I’d like to err on the side of caution. Stay together; don’t split up to try and cover more ground.”

“His arm wasn’t just,” he paused, “hacked off with a hatchet or something, was it?”

“No.”

That did sound strange. “Are you saying someone used a bloody fucking sword?”

“I’m well aware of how mental this sounds,” Merlin said tightly.

“Well, facts are what they are,” Harry sighed heavily, “nothing to be done about it. Give me the mission detail.”

Carol and Harry were due to be on the seven AM flight to Buenos Aires – nonstop, thank god – where they would rendezvous with their local contact to pick up the necessary gear. A bush pilot would then take them to Ushuaia, but it would be up to them to secure a vehicle when they reached that southernmost city.

“Damn,” Harry said. “I assume it’s Mr. and Mrs. Kershaw-Black identities again?”

For missions that required random traveling with no plausible business cover, Carol and Harry often teamed up as a retired, filthy rich, English couple swanning around the globe on a whim. It was a source of hilarity for everyone because the both of them were gayer than a San Francisco pride parade, and together, there was enough queer there to bend a steel beam.

Merlin positively growled in their ears when they amused themselves by camping up their posh and married act. Espionage was mostly sitting around interspersed with short bursts of adrenaline and neither he nor Carol handled boredom well. The expression ‘hurry up and wait’ was an accurate summary of their occupation.

“Alright, keep us updated on Gawain’s status, would you?”

“Of course.”

“And a favor, Merlin, if you will?”

“What is it this time?”

“Would you lock down the house after Eggsy leaves?”

Harry could practically _hear_ Merlin’s eyebrows hitching up his forehead. If Merlin had a hairline to speak of, his brows would be buried there.

“You brought him to your _house_.” It was a statement. “And you’re trusting him to stay there without you?”

“It’s only for a few hours in the morning, and I’m not going to kick him out of bed at,” he glanced at his watch, “half past three in the morning. And it’s not as if he’s going to discover my big bad secret at this point. Which I have you to thank for,” Harry added.

“You never actually thanked me for anything,” Merlin replied. “Alright. Consider it done. Make sure you’re on that plane, and I’d rather you secure your house, Eggsy or not, just in case before you leave. We don’t need him stumbling across the gun in your granola box.”

“Thank you, Merlin, for telling me how to do my job.”

“Fuck off and good luck, Galahad.”

-

It took him a half an hour to hide the guns and other sundry weapons he had scattered around the house – the movies got that part right – and pack an ‘appropriate’ suitcase that involved too many chino shorts and Eddie Bauer shirts. He was still going to fly in a suit though.

“Eggsy darling,” he said quietly, leaning over to whisper into the younger man’s ear.

“Mm,” Eggsy blinked owlishly at Harry a few times, “Harry? Wa’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

Eggsy sat up slowly, rubbing at his crusty eyes and looked at him blearily. “Business trip?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes, duty calls,” Harry said as he pressed a kiss to Eggsy’s forehead. “Stay until you’re ready to head home. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

“Time ‘sit?”

“Too early, go back to sleep. I have to go, the cab is waiting.”

“Can I see you out at least?” he asked, but he was always pushing Harry back so he could get out of bed. He gave an involuntary full body shudder at the cold, and Harry draped his burgundy robe around Eggsy’s shoulders. He looked up at Harry gratefully, “Thanks.”

He followed Harry down the stairs and gave him a quick kiss and a hug at the threshold of the front door. When Harry looked out from the cab, Eggsy was leaning against the doorway and watching him with an unreadable look his eyes.

He was still there when the cab turned the corner.

-

“How is Eggsy?” Kay teased as they settled into their first-class seats – the perks of having affluent cover identities. “Was it very _hard_ , leaving your boy toy behind this morning?”

“How’s Therese doing these days?” Harry countered with narrowed eyes.

“She’s doing very well. Thank you for asking,” Carol answered with mock graciousness, “A very interesting fellow, your Eggsy. A bit young though, isn’t he?”

Harry looked at Carol disbelievingly considering she was seeing a Telegraph photographer who was twenty years her junior.

“By the time we land, it’s going to be early afternoon in Buenos Aires. I, for one, am going to catch up on some much-needed sleep. I suggest you do the same, Mrs. Kershaw-Black.” He reclined his seat to a flat position – _thank you_ , Merlin – and snapped on his eye mask. “Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay is Carol Aird, who I stole from the movie Carol (it's a lovely period movie, go watch it on Netflix). Carol Aird is played by Cate Blanchett. (I didn't want Roxy to be the only Round Table agent). 
> 
> Sergeant Nicholas Angel is from Hot Fuzz. Also worth a watch. He's played by Simon Pegg.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol (agent Kay) and Harry discover that Professor Arnold's vacation looks sketchy. Eggsy's CI role is starting. Pavel is suspicious and worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos! (They remind me that someone's actually reading my terrible writing - why are you reading? regardless, thank you.)
> 
> In my fantasy-riddled mind, Pavel, who's coming in handy since I can't quite use Roxy as Eggsy's BFF here (yet? I haven't decided), looks like Jake Gyllenhaal.
> 
> Also, I can't remember if I've mentioned but Pavel and Pasha are interchangeable. Pasha is the affectionate, diminutive form of Pavel.

By the time they landed in Buenos Aires, picked up their equipment, and flew into Ushuaia, it was almost nine in the evening, not that it felt like night with sunset still being two hours away. The perks of being on the southern tip of the southern hemisphere in November, these 17-hour days. It reminded him of a mission he took in Alaska where he thought he was on the verge of insomnia-induced insanity before he finally went out and bought himself some blackout curtains.

With Ushuaia being a resort town, it was embarrassingly easy to procure a rental car. The Avis agent looked thoroughly bored as he handed off the keys to Harry, “Please return the car with a full tank of gas.”

Harry smirked as if the likelihood of that was just laughable. Which it was.

Unfortunately, the choices were rather limited, and Harry eyed the Pathfinder with a healthy dose of skepticism. Judging by the unimpressed expression Carol was wearing – Harry could see the top of her left brow above the rim of her oversized sunglasses – she clearly shared his sentiments. Well, a V6 engine and 4WD were good enough for a mission of this scope.

Probably.

“We’re checking in at the same hotel that Arnold checked into a week ago,” Carol said from the passenger side, pulling out her tablet. “Arakur Resort, we’ll be staying down the hall from his room in one of the three Master Suites. Arnold also stayed in a Master Suite, and they share the same layout, which is a bonus since we don’t have the blueprint of the hotel.”

These suites sounded fancy. “What’s the day rate for these suites?”

“Eight hundred, give or take two, three hundred depending on the season,” Carol answered and continued to tap away at the tablet. “Take the next left. Either physics professors make a lot more than we thought or someone else is footing the bill for his vacation. I’m betting on the latter.”

Harry tapped his glasses, “Merlin?”

Carol followed suit, pulling her glasses on. There was a pause before the Scot’s familiar brogue was in their ears, “Galahad. Kay. I trust everything’s going well. I would say you’ve not been on location long enough to fuck up already, but I have been proven wrong before.”

Carol and Harry shared a look.

“And I know the glasses are a fairly recent addition to the standard mission kit,” Merlin added, “but may I remind you that your visuals are also my visuals. For your benefit.” He paused for effect then added, “And to my detriment.”

“Your reminder has been noted,” Carol said, smirking, “First things first. How’s Gawain?”

“He’s been on the operating table about five hours now. Almost lost him early on when he went into hypovolemic shock, but they got a transfusion in on time.”

“His arm?”

“The surgeons are hopeful about reattaching the arm with how clean of a cut it was, they might need to shorten it a fraction to reattach the tendons though.” Carol and Harry shared a grimace at the gruesome imagery. “Chest wound went through another body before hitting Al so it didn’t penetrate very far. He has a nicked clavicle though.”

“But he’ll live?” Harry probed. He was quite fond of Gawain, the flashy bastard. That man could fly just about anything, and Harry wasn’t the only agent who had been the beneficiary of that particularly useful skillset during a mission gone awry – flying in a fighter jet was _awesome_ even with the whole vision going grey around the edges business.

“Aye. He’ll live,” Merlin confirmed. “Now, what did you really call me for?”

“Our missing professor. Anyone check his email yet? Scope out his house? We’re fairly certain he didn’t pay, at the very least, for his hotel room.”

“Percival went through his residence and office while you two were in the air. Tech has been going through his computers,” Merlin informed them.

“Computers. As in multiple.”

“He had a desktop and a laptop from the university; those were still in his office. He had another desktop at home, and there’s evidence that he has a personal laptop, but we didn’t find it.”

“Probably took it with him,” Carol said, “I’m guessing that’s a bust on his phone.”

The information gods were smiling down on them. Arnold was a die-hard, loyal Apple customer. Which meant everything on his personal MacBook and iPhone were uploading to his iCloud account.

“But his vacation photos stopped uploading about two days ago, which means he had been held hostage for maybe a day when Gawain stumbled across him,” Merlin said. “We’re combing through his email. When we know anything relevant on our end, you’ll know.”

“Thank you, Merlin. We’re breaking into the professor’s suite in a few hours. Anything you want us to keep an eye out for?”

“Nothing in particular, but transmit via the glasses just in case.”

“Thanks again, Merlin,” Carol said. “If anything changes with Gawain, let us know.”

“Of course, Kay. Good luck.”

-

There was nothing remarkable on Professor Arnold’s laptop, even when examined in person. The phone was missing as expected, presumably on his person or disposed of once he was abducted. They did, however, find out how he was affording such an extravagant vacation. That, in turn, led down another interesting trail.

“There _is_ a Four Corners Travel Agency registered in the Bahamas,” Amelia said, having taken over for Merlin so that the poor man could get some much-needed shuteye.

Carol and Harry waited for her to continue, but nothing else was forthcoming.

“That’s it. It exists. There’s a website, but it has three pages to its name, and one of them is a landing page.”

“A shell company then.” Harry picked up the documents and scanned through it. It looked like a standard vacation package one might get from a travel agency with boarding passes, itineraries, and brochures and the like. “Contact info? Bank transactions?”

“Nope. Zilch. Nada.” Amelia sighed. “And it was created only two months ago. Looks like it was a front to bring Professor Arnold to the ass end of nowhere, lucky winner of an all expenses paid, once in a lifetime experience to Tierra del Fuego. He took a two-week vacation from the university to take this vacation. Had Gawain not spotted him, he would have been missing for over a week before anyone noticed, if not longer. Honestly, I’m not sure whether to feel sorry for him or not. Kidnapping can’t be a pleasant experience, but the more I learn about him, the lower my estimation of him goes. He’s an anti-vaxxer, not because he thinks it causes autism but because the human population needs some trimming like we’re an overgrown hedge or something.”

“A bit of nutjob, eh?” Carol said from the bedroom where she was packing up equipment for their trip to the mountain lodge.

“To put it mildly,” Amelia replied, “did you find anything else in his room?”

“Nothing beyond the usual,” Harry grumbled. He was never a fan of these sorts of missions. Too often it was massive amounts of manhours for small tidbits of information. Granted, every bit of information helped, but it didn’t mean he had to like this aspect of his job. “Clothes, toiletries, travel documents. He wasn’t even using the hotel safe.”

“Well, does the hotel have security? CCTV and such?” Amelia asked, some frustration and tetchiness in her voice slipping through. Harry understood perfectly; it wasn’t every day that a Round Table agent was almost killed, especially one as well-liked as Gawain, and there was too much unknown in this case. Everyone wanted to know who had nearly offed Alisadaire, and this was their best lead.

“It does, but I’d presume it’s third-party.”

Amelia make a small growling noise. He could sympathize. It meant more work on her end. “Anything else I can do for my good knights?”

“That’s all. Thanks for the help, Amelia,” Harry said politely. It was in an agent’s best interest to be on a boffin’s good side. Merlin might be the head of the department, but his minions took care of the minutiae. Being in their good graces meant upgrades to business class and reservations to the best local restaurants while out on a mission.

“We should get going,” Carol said as she zipped up a large traveling duffel bag. “We can’t get helicopter to the mountain lodge, which means we have to go around. That’s a three hour drive. If we head out now, we’ll have eight hours to check out the place before driving back with daylight. I don’t know about you,” she hefted the bag, “but I don’t fancy driving around the switchbacks on these backroads at night.”

-

The text was… long, to put it mildly. An alphabetical list of nearly fifty names, only some of which he was familiar with. That didn’t bother Eggsy. It was the fact that the names hadn’t come from Harry.

>> Who is this?

>> Rabbit, this is agent Lancelot, your temporary handler. Galahad is currently unavailable.

He frowned at the message. He could believe that. Harry had been out of touch since he left early Sunday morning. Even so, Eggsy worried, and he had to ask.

>> Is he alright?

>> Yes.

Well, that was only marginally helpful. He was a little bit miffed at this agent Lancelot fellow now; who did he think he was?

>> How do I know I can trust you?

>> Hold on a moment, please.

He nearly jumped when his phone started vibrating and fumbled a bit before taking the call.

“Hullo?” he answered a little hesitantly.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our bunny.” Amelia. “I hear you’re being difficult already.”

“I’m not – ”

“Relax, I’m just kidding. You have doubts about the, hm, veracity of agent Lancelot’s claims?” The woman sounded amused. “Well, I suppose I should commend your paranoia. It’s a healthy habit to have in our line of work. Better paranoid than gullible.” She sounded sincere.

“Er… thanks… I think,” he said as he eyed the door of the breakroom. He should probably get this done before someone came barging in. “Can you have your Lancelot text me something? So I really know he’s who he says he is?”

“What would you like them to say to you?” Amelia said. She sounded like she was indulging him, but he was glad she was nice enough to go along with his request.

“Since you lot seem fond of Arthurian knights, how about Avalon?”

“Clever,” she snorted, “Alright. I’ll pass along the message. Have a good day, Rabbit.”

“Right. Um, what should I call you other than... you know.”

“You don’t.” And that was that.

He looked at the phone and frowned, “Wanker.”

Even so, it looked like Amelia had come through because his phone buzzed with another notification.

>> Avalon.

>> Thanks. I would apologize, but…

He wasn’t really sorry. The way he saw it, he was doing what he had to do.

>> I understand. I might have done the same in your position.

Alright, he conceded begrudgingly, maybe this Lancelot fellow wasn’t such a prick after all.

>> Anything else, agent Lancelot?

>> Just Lancelot is fine. Only that you let us know if you have tagged anyone on the list.

>> Sure.

He had just put the phone away when Pasha came into the break room. They both startled and laughed nervously.

“Everything alright?” Pasha asked, his eyes scrutinizing Eggsy. Whatever they saw seemed to satisfy him because he relaxed somewhat. “Campbell is looking for you,” he said, “something about the trunk show next week?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he said, straightening his waistcoat. Act normal, Eggsy, just act fucking normal. “Anything else?”

“You look better,” his friend said finally. He reached out slowly to tip Eggsy’s head this way and that, checking, Eggsy supposed, for the tell-tale dark circles (or evidence that he had tried to cover it up with concealer). “Whatever was bothering you, it’s all sorted?”

“I think so,” Eggsy batted Pasha’s hand away lightly, “so you can stop worrying.” He gave Pasha a _look_.

“I’d be less worried if you’d just tell me what’s going on,” he griped, but it was good-natured. “I had to hear second hand from Margaret that you’re seeing someone. You wouldn’t even give them a name?”

Eggsy groaned, “I’ve been on three dates with him. It’s very new, Pasha.”

“That’s two more than anyone else I know of,” Pasha said significantly. His interest had definitely been piqued now, and Eggsy knew if he didn’t give his friend something, he would never hear the end of it.

“Not you, too.”

“In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never had a relationship,” his friend said carefully as if he were wary of spooking Eggsy away with too many questions. Not that it wasn’t a valid concern. “At first it was because you were still adjusting. You were only a few years into remission. And then it was the apprenticeships, how you had to catch up for lost time and focus on your career.”

“Pasha…” he said, a note of warning creeping into his tone.

“And I understood. I still do. Your parents, too. Those were, and are, all valid reasons. But you’re where you wanted to be, right? Have been for a few years. I’m just saying that it’s a lonely way to live, Eggsy.”

He shifted uncomfortably under Pasha’s attention. “It’s not like I’ve been celibate,” he said finally.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said, “you have a big heart, one that’s meant to be shared with someone. Someone who’ll love you and treat you like you’re the center of their world.”

“Is that your roundabout way of asking if the guy I’m seeing now is treating me right?”

“You’ve never been the sharing sort, but you're being even more cagey than usual,” Pavel couldn’t keep the concern from his voice or expression. “It’s got us a bit worried. Your guy… is he married?”

What.

Eggsy burst out laughing. “ _Married_ , what on earth?” He clutched at Pavel’s one shoulder with one hand so he wouldn’t double over. “He’s not married. I wouldn’t… He’s just…” Eggsy forced himself to breathe so he wouldn’t suffocate from laughing, “he’s just… older, alright?”

“Oh?” Pavel’s eyes went wide with surprise but then his expression morphed into that of curiosity. “How much older exactly?”

“ _Older_ ,” he tried to evade.

“Eggsy,” but Pavel wasn’t having it.

“Forty-eight," he snapped, his chin up as if daring Pavel to say anything unflattering.

“That’s not…” Eggsy watched as Pavel grasped for the right words, “Could be worse?”

“ _Could be worse_?” Eggsy squawked. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement, bruv. And what’s wrong with forty-eight?” His face showed exactly how _not_ impressed he was with Pavel’s assessment.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for older guys.”

Did he? No, he decided. He just _had a thing_ for Harry Hart. “I don’t,” Eggsy said flatly, _definitely_ not impressed now.

“Hey, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Pavel said a bit sheepishly. “I’m just surprised is all, you know? How did you meet him?”

Oh, what could Eggsy say to that without giving everything away? It would be a little bit scandalous. A pleb like him involved with a client, a _lord_ at that, minor or not. It would have every socialite and their help in London tittering. But he could obfuscate, couldn’t he?”

“I’ve known him for a while,” Eggsy said, shrugging, “he came to see him when I was at Royal London Hospital.” At Pasha’s puzzled looked, Eggsy added, “The military hospital. Before my discharge.”

“Oh.”

And that was sufficiently uncomfortable enough that Pasha eased off with the questions. Or so Eggsy thought.

“He’s military then?”

“Pasha,” he growled, " _please."_

"What? I mean, it’s kind of odd, you know? You’ve known this… _older gentleman_ for twelve years, probably more, but you’re only just dating him now?”

"There's nothing wrong with that," he crossed his arms. "Is there?" He knew he sounded both accusatory and defensive. His hackles were up, and he knew it.

"I never said there was. We're just worried about you."

"You keep saying that. Like I can't look after myself."

"It's not  _you_ we doubt, Eggsy."

"Oh? So it's the other guy, is it?" Eggsy narrowed his eyes. "Ha - he's an honorable man."

Which was when Campbell poked his head into the breakroom. “Ah, there you are, Eggsy.” He looked between the two men, “Everything alright in here?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison. Campbell looked doubtful but refrained from pointing out the obvious tension.

Eggsy smiled brightly, “Pavel mentioned you were looking for me?”

“I was,” Campbell said as he walked away, and it was implied that Eggsy should follow.

When Eggsy looked back at Pavel, he was mouthing, _this is not over._


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argentina is a bust. Sort of. Eggsy's in New York and in for a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. I'm just not happy with how this chapter went. I changed and erased and rewrote multiple, but I just couldn't get it to take the shape I had in my mind. Ah, well.

As expected, a cleanup crew had been through the lodge already – the speed with which their unknown adversary was working was starting to become cause for more serious concern. Carol and Harry scoured the place from top to bottom, even the woods around it, and found precisely _nothing_ , no shell casings, nothing out of place, not even a trace of the ungodly amount of blood Gawain surely must have spilled.

Amelia had contacted the owner of the lodge, some French multimillionaire, but he only used the place in the winter and, as far as he knew, it had stood empty since June.

“Well, that was a colossal bust,” Carol said two hours into their drive back to the hotel. They had both been silent until then, stewing in their shared disappointment.

Harry heaved a deep sigh. “Do you think Arnold might be one of the missing VIP’s?” he asked finally. He had been turning the question over in his mind for the better part of an hour.

“Does this have to do with the case that you’re not investigating with Merlin?” Carol asked, snapping shut the cover of her tablet.

The SUV jerked as Harry abruptly pulled over.

“Harry, darling,” Carol said in that blasé way of hers, “Arthur’s head might be too far up his arse to realize what’s going on, but you must be barmy to think that no one else would notice what you two were up to,” she said with a disappointed look. “ _God,_ I need a smoke. Start the car, Harry. I don’t like lingering roadside in foreign places.”

He did as she suggested but pressed on with a list of questions.

“Who else?” He asked, resigned and just _fucking_ _tired_ now.

“Percival and Gavin. I suspect Lancelot does, but she’s a black hole, you know. Nothing gets out with her,” she snorted, “I’d be bloody frustrated if I didn’t respect the balls on that woman.”

Harry had to agree with Kay there. Roxy was, how had Merlin put it, quietly terrifying.

“We – meaning Percy, Gav, and I – don’t know much beyond the fact that you’re looking into it. Until now, we didn’t really have reason to care. We figured our friends at MI5 had it covered.”

“They’re as clueless as we are,” Harry admitted, “if not more so.”

“But you think the professor is among the missing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. Again. It seemed like there was a whole lot that he didn’t know these days. “Whoever kidnapped the professor didn’t want the public to know that he was missing, at least not for a week. That’s never been the case with any of the other missing VIP. I mean, we’ll never know now, will we?”

Carol nodded, taking in what Harry was saying, “Anything else?”

“Well, if he is part of this whole… scheme, then he would probably fit into the scholar-slash-scientist category.”

“As opposed to…”

“Leaders and politicians. CEOs and moneyed. Artists and other sundry types,” Harry explained, “But that’s only speculation. We only came up with the categories because we couldn’t find anything that would tie all of the missing together.”

“No motive?”

“We couldn’t even begin to guess at that given that no one has claimed credit. Well, some have but they were debunked. Same with ransom demands. So far, we think there’s somewhere between fifty and sixty missing, about a quarter of which are British subjects, kidnapped over the course of the past twelve months.”

“Holy shit,” Carol looked stunned, “that’s a kidnapping a week. How is this not a top news story?”

Harry shrugged. He judiciously avoided watching his news, much preferring to take in the current events through the written word from sources that weren’t, frankly, utter garbage. The real news – the sort that conspiracy nut jobs would salivate over – came through the department briefings that landed in his email inbox at six A.M. sharp every morning.

They spent the remaining hour of the drive discussing the kidnappings, and when they returned to their hotel room, they reported their findings, or lack thereof rather, to Merlin. After taking their turns at the shower, they settled the room service or hotel restaurant debate with a two-out-of-three round of rock-paper-scissors which Carol won in favor of the restaurant.

Ten minutes into dinner, he was very glad that she had.

He tapped his glasses. “Merlin?”

Carol casually adjusted her pair to open her comms as well.

“What is it, Galahad?”

“I need you to run facial recognition for me,” he said as he looked up at the bar where a woman had just sat down. “Woman in the yellow sundress at the bar.”

“I’ve only got the profile from your angle,” Merlin said after a moment, “I need a more frontal view.”

Carol stood up and said, “I’ll be back in a minute, honey.” She made her way through the restaurant breezily, popping into the restroom for a minute before making her way back to their table.

“Thank you, Kay, that’ll do nicely,” Merlin said. It was shortly followed by a disbelieving, “Fuck me.”

“It is her, isn’t it?” Harry kept his face impassive, outwardly containing the excitement he could feel growing inside.

“Who?” Carol asked a little impatiently, “Care to fill me in, either of you?”

“Brooke Keppel, daughter of Daniel Keppel, otherwise known as the Earl of Essex. She and both her parents are, or were, on missing list. Supposed to be missing, anyhow,” Merlin explained. “Looks like she’s been hiding away here. She must be using an alias though because she’s not on the hotel guest list.”

“Can you figure out what alias she is using?” Harry asked.

“We’ll look into which room she’s staying at from the security cameras and work our way backward.”

“And check if the Earl and his wife are here as well. From the hotel footage,” Carol added.

“Aye,” Merlin said, “we’ll be running facial recognition as far back as we can. It might take a while though, we’re limited by the transmission time to get the CCTV files and the processing time for the recognition program.”

“That’s not a problem as long as it’s running in the background.” Harry had bigger, more pressing concerns. “We need to get into her room. She doesn’t seem to have private security, but we need to be certain.”

“Should we engage?” Carol wondered, tilting her knife against the tablecloth to get a blurred reflection of Brooke Keppel.

“Definitely not,” Harry said, shaking his head, “We don’t know anywhere near enough to take that sort of action and risk.”

-

Apparently, Matt’s girlfriend had gone into labor in the wee hours, which meant he would be taking paternity leave for the next two weeks. Eggsy wasn’t surprised; the woman had looked ready to pop the last time she came around the shop. That, however, meant that Campbell was a man short for the trip to New York, and he wanted to take Eggsy and use the opportunity to get him acquainted with some of their overseas clients.

Eggsy, Emma, and Campbell would leave Thursday morning, land Thursday morning – the joys of westward intercontinental travel – and hit the ground running for five straight days of work. Ralph Moullet, their resident cutter in New York, had appointments lined up nearly back-to-back with events on Friday and Saturday evenings dubbed ‘Gentlemen’s Evening with Kingsman’ to ply potential customers with witty conversation, fine whisky, and cigars.

Not exactly Eggsy’s forte, but when the boss told you to jump, you jumped.

“You should bring that faille-trimmed smoking jacket,” Campbell had suggested. “It’s very eye-catching.”

It was also very, very orange, but he packed the jacket as suggested.

Packing for six days of client interaction meant he had to break out all his garment bags and large suitcase, but he figured this was a case where overpreparation was better than the alternative. He settled for a navy greatcoat coat as his formal outerwear (it was one of his favorites with wide wrap-over lapels and longer lengths ideal for cold weathers).

For all his reservations, Eggsy was glad for the trip. It would give him space away from Andrew and Pavel. Let them cool their heels a bit while he was away. Even so, he wasn’t a complete tool, and he asked Andrew if he would give him a lift to Heathrow after closing up shop on Thursday. An olive-branch of sorts.

-

The universe seemed determined to fuck them up the arse and then sideways a few times for good measure.

Brooke Keppel checked out Wednesday afternoon, flanked by four men in severe suits and earpieces dangling from one ear – bodyguards. It seemed odd that a supposedly missing woman would need them. They took a private flight out that Merlin was able to track to Buenos Aires, but they lost the trail there. Her parents were nowhere in sight. According to the CCTV footage, they had never arrived with their daughter, who had first checked in three weeks ago.

“You couldn’t have done much anyway,” Amelia said, tone crisp and matter of fact. “Two of the men were in the restaurant last night – you’re lucky he was sitting far enough away that you weren’t overheard. Hallway footage shows that there was always someone in her room. Even with more time, you couldn’t have done much without arousing suspicion.”

“We could have approached her with more preparation.”

“I don’t think so. She was here for business, rebuffed any sort of advances and almost always took room service. You were lucky to even spot her when you did. Looks like she was venturing out because it was her last night there.”

“We’ll keep an eye out at airports, see if she turns up anywhere,” Merlin added. Even as he said it, he didn’t sound very hopeful.

“Her transportation is likely private,” Carol didn’t bother to keep the note of dejection from her voice, “and, judging by how she hasn’t triggered any alerts for the six months she’s been ‘missing’, her aliases are being provided by someone with a substantial money, influence, or both.”

The comms were silent as everyone brooded at the missed opportunity.

“Alright, I’m calling you both back to London,” Merlin said, breaking the lull, “Your flight back to Buenos Aires leave at 0700 tomorrow, if there’s any business left, finish it up tonight. I’ll see you when you land. Galahad, if I may speak to you privately?”

Carol’s comms went dark, and Harry stepped out to the balcony. “What is it?”

“You’re going on vacation,” Merlin said. He sounded rather pleased with himself.

“I’ve already accumulated almost three months of medical leave this year. You might remember that I was only cleared for fieldwork a month ago,” he reminded his friend, “I don’t think I’m ready to take a vacation.”

“You will be when I tell you why. In all seriousness, you’ve got two weeks of PTO you still haven’t used, and we’re heading into December. Super spy you might be, but you’re still a government employee and you don’t want HR on your back,” Merlin said cheerfully, “Carol will take her flight to London, as planned, and you, my friend, are going to New York.”

“I’ve already been to New York. Stopped a bomb from going off at the UN General Assembly last year as a matter of fact.”

“Yes, I recall,” Merlin said smugly, “I was in your ear when you defused that one. This trip is likely to result in a different kind of bang,” God save them all from Merlin’s terrible puns, “because you’ve got an Easter egg in New York.”

“Oh.” That changed things a bit. “And how am I to explain my presence?” Harry kept his voice level even though his heart had thudded in his chest. The three, almost four, days that he hadn’t seen Eggsy suddenly felt much longer with the prospect of seeing him soon.

“You don’t really need to, but New York City has the highest per capita numbers of lawyers in the world. I’m sure you can concoct something sufficiently vague but plausible.”

“He’s there on business I take it?”

“With his boss and another employee. Kingsman is holding events for clients and their guests on Friday and Saturday evening at the Four Seasons. As a long-time and loyal client such as yourself, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for you to stop by since you happen to be in town?” Merlin suggested.

“You and Lancelot. I’ve said it now and I’m saying it again. You take an inappropriate amount of interest in my personal life.”

“Only because we care.”

-

By Friday afternoon, Eggsy was dead on his feet, and he still had three days to go though Monday would be a blessed half-day. He chugged down his fifth bottle of water for the day. Talking to clients all day left him parched.

“I think that was the last of them for today” Ralph said with a relieved sigh after escorting the final appointment of the day to the elevator. “If you’ve already made all the notes you need, Eggsy, Emma, I recommend you take a break before heading to the Four Seasons. All you need to do is show up.”

“And talk to more people until midnight,” Eggsy mumbled under his breath, already grabbing his coat. He had three hours and damned if he wasn’t going to spend at least one of that napping. “See you at eight,” he said on his way out, holding the door open for Emma. He _was_ a gentleman, after all.

Emma Cope was a petite young man with coppery, brownish hair and a penchant for embroidering _everything_ , among other strange hobbies.

“You know where I can find some good sausage in New York?” She asked, ignoring the look that she got from passing pedestrians. It was a tradition of hers to have a sausage dinner every Friday, no pun intended.

“I wouldn’t know, but isn’t there supposed to be a deli on every block in New York?”

“That’s stereotyping, Eggsy,” she gave him a disapproving frown, “but there ought to be one somewhere around here within walking distance.”

“I’d accompany you, but I really need a nap if I’m going to endure _four hours_ of rubbing elbows with upper-crust yanks,” he said, “meet you in the lobby at, say, half past seven? We can walk over together.”

With that agreed upon, Eggsy trudged up to his room, setting an alarm for a quarter after six in the elevator, and barely got his clothes properly hung up in the closet before collapsing into his bed.

-

Harry checked into his hotel room Friday mid-morning, a little bleary-eyed from having dozed off in the cab. The receptionist at the hotel had been about to protest at his request until Harry slid the Amex Centurion card across the marble surface, and the matter had been smoothed over.

After that, she was falling over herself to accommodate him.

“The Presidential Suite is available. Would you be interested in upgrading your accommodations, Mr. Hart?” she asked, all polite smiles now.

It used to bother him. That his money and attire entitled him to better treatment than his fellow men. It still did, but he counted his blessings and tried to minimize demonstrating his advantage, unlike some other weak-chinned bluebloods he had the misfortune of being acquainted with.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. He just wanted a steaming hot shower to wash off the airplane grime. Maybe a massage as well, now that he thought about it. He was getting too old for sitting around for eleven hours. “Would you check if Melanie is still working at the spa? It’s been a while since I’ve stayed here, but she was quite competent the last time.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Hart,” she tapped away at the keyboard, “Melanie has a ninety-minute opening at two this afternoon?”

“That will do very nicely.”

He forced himself to take an hour-long swim before that coveted shower and massage, mindful of the biannual physical fitness test coming up in January. In his twenty years as a knight-code agent, he had never failed one and he wasn’t about to start now. Francis – codename Geraint – had failed the ten-mile run by five seconds five years ago, and he was still getting flak for it.

The massage was a torture session – and he would know, having been on the receiving end of ‘advanced interrogation’ several times himself (he was missing a molar to show for it, too). He wasn’t overly fond of the ‘fluff-and-buff’ types of massages, as his massage therapist in London called it.

Merlin thought him rather odd for subjecting himself to his monthly deep tissue massages, and sometimes Harry wondered himself. Especially moments like now when he wanted to vomit from the pain as Melanie dug into a particularly stubborn knot in his left hamstring.

“You should try foam rolling,” she said as she traced the muscle to the back of his knee.

“I do,” he mumbled into the face cradle, glad that he was face down to hide his grimace.

“Have you considered yoga? Pilates?” She hit a spot that made his nerve sing down his calf and his pinky toe twitch. He huffed and puffed in agony. “You’re doing a great job of staying relaxed though. Not as tough as this eighty-year-old client I have, but she’s been through _eight_ natural births.”

“ _Eight?_ ” he guffawed.

“Yep.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“That’s what I said. You’ve still got a high pain tolerance though. You haven’t even cursed me out yet,” she said cheerfully.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Does that happen often?”

“All the time. I’ve been called a motherfucker, sadist, Satan, and the Antichrist, to name a few. Someone compared me to the Spanish Inquisition one time. Like, the _entire_ Inquisition combined,” she said with a laugh.

“I believe it,” he groaned, “and no, I don’t do yoga or pilates, but I do stretch.” When he could. He didn’t exactly get a lot of warm-up time when running away from a warehouse about to blow or well-armed assailants bent on killing him with high-velocity pieces of metal.

“Your calves were a bit stiff, too. I recommend alternating soaks in hot and cold water, help the flush out the muscles,” she said as she stepped away from the table. “I’m going to step out now, let me know when you’re decent.”

He felt like he had been kneaded over like pizza dough but less like the tendons in his body were about to snap from unreleased tension, so he counted the massage as a win in his book. It still left him with a few hours, and Harry decided to kill some time walking down 5th avenue.

He didn’t _mean_ to buy the watch. An understated Patek Philippe Calatrava. White gold and black leather. Roxy and Merlin would surely shake their heads at the purchase, but he hadn’t bought it with himself in mind. Now he was stuck now with a gift that was too extravagant to give without embarrassing both himself and Eggsy. The cufflinks would be fine though, right?

Harry was self-aware enough to admit that he wanted to see Eggsy adorned in something that Harry had given him. He could just hear Merlin snarking about how Eggsy wasn’t something to be marked ‘Property of Harry Hart’. But if God was permitted to be a jealous god, Harry could be a jealous man, too.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry surprises Eggsy in New York.

Emma ribbed him about his orange smoking jacket as they made their way to the Four Seasons.

“It’s so _orange_ ,” she giggled into his shoulder, plucking at the fabric.

“Oi, that’s enough. Hands of the merchandise, yeah? This is my favorite smoking jacket, I’ll have you know,” he sputtered and poked her in the side. “Besides, Campbell wanted me to wear it. Said it would make a statement or something.”

“Well, at least I won’t get hit by a car,” she was cackling now, “since I’m walking next to a walking traffic cone.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up at my expense,” he grumbled, but she saw the little smile he was trying to contain.

Campbell and Ralph greeted them at the event hall and placed a wine glass in their hands. “Sip on that. People get awkward if you’re not holding a drink,” their boss advised, “now, shoo, go mingle.”

And mingle he did. The majority of the guests were either involved in the city’s bespoke community or were clients who patronized such businesses. He was very glad for Campbell’s suggestion on the smoking jacket. It _was_ a conversation starter and kept the topic mostly confined to his craft. He didn’t have to pretend interest in matters he didn’t care enough to keep up with (or didn’t know anything about… like American football and ice hockey). After about an hour of hobnobbing, he found that his glass had run dry and meandered over to the open bar.

He nearly jumped a foot into the air when he felt a puff of breath at his ear, accompanied by a familiar voice.

“I recommend the Pinot Noir. 2009, an excellent year for the Sonoma Valley.”

Eggsy whipped around so fast the room spun, “Harry?”

“But should you be drinking on the job, Eggsy?” Harry teased, nodding to the empty glass in Eggsy’s hand.

“Honestly,” Eggsy leaned in close, keeping his voice to a quiet whisper, “I don’t think I would survive this without a little bit of help.”

“It helps to be wearing a conversation starter,” the agent replied and reached out to run his finger down the lapel of Eggsy’s jacket, “I was nearly blinded by the orange light. No one told me I should have brought my solar eclipse glasses.”

“D’you like it?” Eggsy drawled, “I’ve been told a dozen times – at least – that it’s _very_ fetching on me.”

“Eggsy, my darling, a _sack_ would look fetching on you,” Harry very nearly _purred,_ “it’s the man that wears the clothes. Or doesn’t, as the occasion calls for it.”

Eggsy thought his knees would turn to jelly at Harry’s voice. If Eggsy had to describe Harry’s voice, he would draw comparisons to velvet or cashmere. If he could drink that voice, it would be hot chocolate, the kind with a slightly viscous consistency and warmed you inside out.

Before Eggsy could scold the older gentleman for his blatant flirtations, Campbell had sidled up to the pair out of nowhere. The man was a vampire or something with that uncanny ability to suddenly appear at your elbow.

“Mr. Hart, we had no idea you’d be in New York,” he marveled, shaking hands enthusiastically with Harry, “what a stroke of luck.”

“Indeed. I was in town for business and happened to be staying at the Four Seasons. Imagine my surprise when the concierge informs me that Kingsman is hosting this weekend.”

“Well, we’re honored that you could join us. And I see you’re already acquainted with Gary. He’s very talented, just like his father,” Campbell said, beaming.

“Yes, I’m aware. He took very good care of a family friend for her first bespoke experience. Miss Morton? She was very pleased with how everything turned out,” Harry interjected.

Recognition flitted across Campbell’s face, “Ah yes, Judge Morton’s niece.”

A few more words were exchanged before Campbell’s interest was satisfied and he wandered off.

“I hope I haven’t put you into an uncomfortable position,” Harry murmured under his breath, hiding his words in the rim of his wine glass.

“I don’t think so, but you never know what you’re thinking with Campbell. Keeps his cards close. Who knows, maybe he’s worried you’re trying to perv on his young employees,” Eggsy teased, gently bumping shoulders with Harry.

“Not employees. Just the one,” Harry hid his smile by taking another sip.

Eggsy was spared from coming up with an appropriate response by the timely intervention of Emma, who had approached the pair with three other people in tow. Wall Street types, Eggsy figured, judging by the well-fitted but rather dull cut of their suit. Even so, they were polite and seemed genuinely interested in what Kingsman had to offer, and he wiled away more time as people filtered in and out of the circle they formed.

Harry only interjected when asked for his opinion, taking off his jacket at one point so Eggsy could use it for demonstration purposes. It was a pleasure to watch the young man in his element. He looked like he was holding court for the guests, words flowing easily from those perfect lips. Harry could very well understand how easy it was to be caught in Eggsy’s thrall.

Harry excused himself and rejoined the crowd, putting up the appearance of socializing, but he found that his eyes kept returning to Eggsy and admiring the way his clothes accentuated his lovely figure, those deceptively broad shoulders, that trim waist, the perk of his arse, those lovely ample thighs.

Across the room, their eyes would met, and he raised his glass.

“Excuse me,” he asked a passing catering staff, “where are the restrooms?”

“Out the doors, to the left, can’t miss it.”

He thanked the man and, on his way out, caught Eggsy’s eyes. Really, he shouldn’t. It was terribly inappropriate.

Harry winked and turned his head just slightly.

-

“I wasn’t sure you’d follow,” Harry murmured against Eggsy’s mouth, swallowing Eggsy’s gasp when he pressed him against the wall.

“I can’t stay long,” he replied, “so don’t start anything. The boss would get suspicious.” He wanted to press against the heat of Harry’s body, but that _would_ start things that his trousers couldn’t hide.

Harry hummed. He would taste wine on Eggsy’s tongue and lips. The pinot noir _was_ an excellent choice, he mused.

“When you’re done, come up to my room tonight,” he whispered and nipped at the shell of Eggsy’s ear.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” Eggsy agreed breathlessly.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy meets some interesting new clients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the Easter egg.

Eggsy cracked open another bottle of water and gulped down several mouthfuls of water. His post-lunch appointment had been _infuriating_ , and that was putting it very mildly. The worst sort of new money.

Now, Eggsy had nothing against new money, per se, nor old money or money in general. He remembered what going hungry had felt like – before Andrew. Money didn’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell was a good start. Happiness, or even contentment, was simply out of reach on an empty stomach. So money was a useful thing to have.

What he couldn’t _stand_ was the snobbishness and condescension that sometimes came with currency. This client had looked young enough to matriculate at university but had already developed all the airs of men like Mr. King and his nephew with none of the subtlety. During their allotted hour, he’d gone on and on about how he sold two start-ups for millions and was on his third already, and Eggsy was very glad to see the back of him.

“Your next appointment is here,” Ralph let him know. “You okay? You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” he said, waving off Ralph’s concern. It was his own damn fault anyway – and totally worth it – to spend the night with Harry.

Eggsy managed a convincing smile at Ralph.

“My appointment?”

Ralph gestured at the shop entrance, and Eggsy nearly choked.

“Richmond Valentine? Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed at Ralph, “Where’s Campbell?”

“Mr. Carey specifically wanted you to take on Valentine’s account, said you were _fresh,_ ” Ralph said, grinning at Eggsy’s panic, “You’ll be fine.”

Despite his initial reservations, it went… surprisingly well. It was actually refreshing to be able to recommend choices bolder than he usually might. He had taken one look at the outfit that Valentine had walked in with and knew that ‘traditional’ and ‘staple’ were not adjectives to used to describe this billionaire’s sartorial choices.

“People often think that having a bespoke suit is about appearances, and I won’t deny that it’s important aspect of the appeal, but first and foremost is comfort,” Eggsy said as he had Valentine try on one of the sample jackets, just to demonstrate how a tux with a coat tail might look, “What’s the point of having a suit made to your exact measurements if you don’t feel comfortable in it?”

“I _completely_ agree,” Valentine said, turning this way and that. “This is a dope ass jacket. Not my usual style, but someone said I needed one of these penguin suits for the Royal Ascot. Can you make the lapels wider? And in this fabric?” he asked, pointing at a velvet fabric swatch.

“Absolutely. Also, if you’re headed to the Royal Ascot, you’ll need a top hat,” Eggsy said, “London has several excellent hatters, for when you’re in town.”

“Any recommendations?”

He mulled over the choices, “Bates Hatters is a fine choice. And you can’t go wrong with Lock & Co. either.”

“Lox, as in smoked fish?”

“More like lock and key?” Eggsy replied as he helped Valentine out of one jacket and into another.

“Oh, I have trouble understanding you people sometimes. You all talk so funny. I tried watching them Harry Potter movies, but I had to turn on subtitles about five minutes in,” Valentine chuckled and turned to admire the new jacket he had just put on. “Ooh, I _like_ this one. My man!” he enthused, clasping a firm hand on Eggsy’s shoulder. “You’ve got a good eye. Hey, Gazzy! Doesn’t this dude have _style?_ Just look at the color, it’s a dope ass blue, isn’t it?” he asked, turning to his stern looking… assistant? Daughter? Girlfriend? She was quite young, but Eggsy was no stranger to wealthy, older men with younger companions. Pot, kettle, and all.

Actually, she had sat to the side so quietly that Eggsy had nearly forgotten she was there. Looking at her now though, he didn’t think he’d ever think that again. Her smile was just this side of cold as she regarded Eggsy.

She had some sick looking prosthetics though. They didn’t look anything like Ryan’s prosthetics, and he wondered if they were one-of-a-kind. It was certainly possible, working for someone like Valentine who had pockets deeper than the Marianas Trench.

“It’s a very nice blue,” she said.

“Will Miss…” Eggsy trailed off, realizing that she had never been introduced.

“Gazelle will do,” she said curtly. An odd nickname.

“Because she’s wicked fast,” Valentine explained, “she’s like the female Oscar Pistorius, without the girlfriend murdering bit, of course.”

Eggsy’s eyes flicked downward at the prosthetics, at the hardness in her eyes, and he got the impression that this woman wouldn’t need a gun to kill anyone.

“Will Miss Gazelle be accompanying you to the Buckingham Palace and the Royal Ascot, Mr. Valentine?”

“Of course, she’s like, my right-hand man, practically family,” Valentine said, lisp coming out full force in the face of his effusive praise, “right, Gazelle?”

The woman rolled her eyes and seemed to thaw a bit.

“I don’t know what I’d do without her,” Valentine said, facing Eggsy. “You know what I mean?”

Eggsy thought of Harry and how unbearably difficult it had been to leave his bed early in the morning and smiled amiably. “I do,” he said, then remembering his question, turned to Gazelle, “will you be wearing trousers or a dress?”

Gazelle assessed Eggsy, making no effort to hide that she was taking her own kind of measurement of him, and said, “I prefer trousers, but I assume dresses are more appropriate for the occasion?”

“If I might make a suggestion?” Eggsy said mildly, ignoring the way the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up when the woman directed her full attention on him.

She raised an eyebrow at him in a ‘let’s see what you’ve got’ gesture.

“I know a young lady. She prefers the comforts of trousers but the aesthetic of skirts and dresses. She would overlay a skirt of identical material over her trousers, removable by a zipper. It makes for easier transitions,” he explained, “and allows for easier mobility when the occasion called for it.”

“That’s fucking brilliant! Gary, you’re the man,” Valentine exclaimed, clasping his hands together. “I mean, seriously. You are. The. Man. Didn’t I say he was the man, Gazzy? Let’s have two of those outfits, one for the palace and another for that horse racing place.”

It was possibly the most awkward measuring session Eggsy had ever had. No, not possibly. Definitely. No contest number one. She dismissed Eggsy’s suggestion that Emma take her measurements, explaining, “I spent the majority of my youth in a hospital, and most of my doctors were men.”

Which made Eggsy feel even _worse_ , but when he looked over at Campbell, his bosses shrugged as if to say, why not.

“Well, I don’t usually share personal details, but if it helps, I’m bent,” Eggsy said.

“I don’t care,” she said, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Right,” he said and returned to the task at hand.

He started from the top, and he could feel her eyes following his movements. Her gaze felt like an icy touch, and when their eyes met in the mirror, it was an effort to maintain his carefully neutral expression.

“This woman you spoke of,” she said after a while, “she’s also an amputee?”

He paused from where he was kneeling beside her to measure her right outseam. “Yes, double below the knee,” he said eventually, scribbling down the number.

“May I ask how?”

“Afghanistan,” he answered, figuring that it was explanation enough.

“Former military then.” He nodded in confirmation of her half-question. “Did you serve with her?”

“With her? No. She was army. I was marines, actually, but I’d left the force by the time I met her,” he walked around to her left side, kneeling again, “I met her at the physical therapist’s office. My best friend injured his left leg to an IED, beyond salvage, so he got a BKA. I accompanied him for a while and her sessions were right after Ryan’s, so I got to know her in the waiting room.”

“And what does your friend do now?”

He looked up, a little startled at the realization that she was making conversation with him.

“She paints. She’s quite good, I’ve got one of her works hanging in my living room.”

“A painter and a tailor,” Gazelle said. She sounded both contemplative and amused, “You don’t miss it, the military?”

“Sometimes. The camaraderie mostly,” he shrugged, brushing off his knee as he stood, “but it feels like a different lifetime, you know? Like those memories aren’t even mine.” Granted, that might have had to do with the fact that his life sometimes felt like it was bisected into two parts, pre- and post- cancer, but he felt like he had already shared too much with this strange woman.

The appointment wrapped up rather quickly after that, what with Gazelle’s requirements being rather simple and straightforward in comparison. Campbell arranged to have Ralph pay them a visit in January to their New York home for a basted fitting, and that was that.

Nothing remarkable had happened, but his encounter with Valentine and Gazelle stayed with him for the rest of the afternoon.

-

Bodyguard #4 – Gazelle didn’t bother to remember their names what with the turnover rate being so high – closed the door behind Gazelle, and the limo glided away.

“I like him,” she said with preamble.

“Wait, what, who?” Valentine whipped his head around to stare at Gazelle incredulously. “You don’t like _anyone_.”

“That’s not true,” she said with that lilting French accent she never quite shed. It was an affectation, he knew, but he _liked_ it. “I like _you_ , don’t I?”

“That’s a given,” he said without missing a beat.

Gazelle smiled at him indulgently.

“You’re talking about my man, Gary, aren’t you?”

“He’s not your man,” she chastised, “yet. He was different.”

Valentine narrowed his eyes at his right-hand woman.

“We should keep him. It’d be useful to have a tailor around, don’t you think?”

His Gazzy rarely asked for anything. She was asking now, the only way she knew how to.

“You know what? You’re right,” he agreed. Anything for his Gazelle, “We should.”

It was worth the smile he got.

-

“You’re preoccupied,” Harry observed. There was no recrimination, it was simply a statement. He was stretched on his side, head propped up with an elbow, free hand lazily tracing random patterns on Eggsy’s back.

“Had an unusual client today,” Eggsy murmured into his pillow, sighing into Harry’s touch. The warmth of his palm was a pleasant counterpoint to the cool air of the hotel room.

“Oh?”

“Richmond Valentine. You know him?”

“I’ve heard _of_ him, of course. The American philanthropist.”

“Richest man alive, yeah,” Eggsy said, “nearly swallowed my tongue when he walked in. He brought someone with him, the strangest woman I ever met.” He was tired from another evening event for Kingsman, and that familiar post-coitus sleepiness was clinging to him. He mentally pushed the drowsiness aside and shifted so that he could look at Harry properly.

Harry kept his hand on Eggsy, letting it rest in that divot above the jut of his hipbone.

“Strange?” Harry asked. When Eggsy didn’t say anything, he tried, “Dangerous?”

“It’s weird. To think of a double amputee as dangerous,” Eggsy admitted but didn’t deny Harry’s question, “I mean, maybe it’s because I was there when Ryan was learning to walk again and all that. I don’t know.”

“It’s not strange at all. Anyone can be dangerous, and often times it’s the people we least expect to be, the underestimated. And amputees aren’t vulnerable forever,” Harry said, “they adapt, like your friend did.”

“Of course, I realize that. It’s just... a gut feeling? And she had these, I don’t know, I’d never seen prosthetics like that before.” And Eggsy had seen quite a few from when he was helping Ryan.

“What was her relationship with Valentine?”

“At first, I thought daughter, maybe girlfriend, but neither of those seemed right. They were close though, and he didn’t treat her like an employee. Said himself that she was practically family.”

“Very close then.”

Eggsy hummed in agreement, “If he’s bringing her with him as his guest to the Palace and Royal Ascot, yes, I’d say so.”

“That doesn’t preclude a bodyguard arrangement. Have you heard of Teddy Smith and Ronnie Kray?” Harry asked, continuing when Eggsy shook his head, “The Kray twins were East End gangsters in the fifties and sixties, possibly the most brutal of that era. Smith was rumored to be a friend, lover, and bodyguard to Ronnie Kray.”

“Actually, yeah, I have heard of them. Ronnie was the crazy twin, right?”

“I’d say they were both quite insane, but yes. It was speculated that Ronnie Kray had mental illnesses that reached beyond violent psychopathy,” Harry said, expression dead.

Eggsy giggled, “You just can’t turn off that poshness, can you? Even in bed.”

“Eggsy.”

“Alright, sorry. It’s just… Anyway. I don’t know. Gazelle was beautiful.”

“Gazelle?”

“Nickname, didn’t give a real name. But anyway, that sounds crazy, right? Her being a bodyguard.” Eggsy shook his head as if to convince himself, disabuse himself of the notion, “I mean, I feel like a total prick for thinking so. Like, I know Ryan could do anything he put his mind to, but the idea of it is so… out there.”

“Isn’t this Valentine fellow a bit, as you put it, out there?” Harry hedged.

That drew a bark of laughter from Eggsy, “Yeah, the dude was definitely one of a kind. A very interesting sense of style. Hip-hop meets preppy meets boardroom.”

The conversation veered away after that and Eggsy fell asleep shortly after. But Harry lay awake, listening to the even rhythm of Eggsy’s breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an interview with Samuel Jackson (a worthy read, but definitely peruse for the photos):  
> https://therake.com/stories/icons/samuel-l-jackson-the-path-of-the-righteous-man/
> 
> The blue suit (the bright blue one), that's what I'm imagining Eggsy recommended.


End file.
